


known you in every life i've lived

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Royalty, Soulmates, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 01:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: “I would guess that your magic is stronger here because your soulmate might be within the castle. Maybe your magic is trying to lead you to them.”Zayn is a newly appointed crown prince and Louis is the first person with grey magic in the kingdom since the Founding Queen herself. Abelwick fic.





	known you in every life i've lived

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curlylou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlylou/gifts).



> This fic was originally posted two years ago as a gift fic for the zouis exchange and I'm putting it back online today. I've stripped out the side worlds and some of the parts I felt were unnecessary to make it better reading for those so inclined.
> 
> There is a lot of discussion of dying and some near experiences, though no actual character death. The side relationships are small and the main relationship has a bit of a slow burn element to it, especially for a soulmate fic.
> 
> Title from Cobra Starship.

Though the magic that protects Abelwick is strong enough to bleed out past the fortified walls of the castle, thrumming through the ground like a current, it is weak on the outer edges of the kingdom where it is far from its source. For the first time in his life, Zayn approaches the castle he is now to call home, overwhelmed by the sheer strength of the magic he can feel surrounding him.

With his eyes wide in wonder, he takes in the view of Abelwick Castle from his vantage point on the crest of the hill overlooking the capital city. The battlements running along the tops of the walls are situated higher than any have ever been built, and he can just make out the silhouettes of soldiers stood at alert in the spaces that are normally reserved for military defense. Today, instead of arrows, the soldiers are standing with flags along the parapet, Yaser’s silver coat of arms appearing as nothing more than a hint of contrast to the main colour on each rectangle of fabric. The Malik’s heraldic colour is a striking purple, easily visible from the distance, and Zayn feels himself sighing before he’s even aware, comforted by the sight of the same flag that has flown in his family’s home since he can remember.

He tries to tell himself that living in Abelwick Castle will be just the same as living with his parents in their home in a town on the very outskirts of the kingdom, but he knows better than to attempt to tell himself a lie. The castle towers over the town in the valley between the hill Zayn is resting on and the artificial hill constructed as the castle’s base. It helps the walls, which are built of the darkest stone, appear intimidating in order to warn off would-be attackers, though they are also strong enough to withstand the sieges with which it has been threatened.

The previous king, who had been Zayn’s uncle, had granted Yaser and his family a comfortable manor home in Tynneshire that had presided over a small village of only three families. Abelwick, in contrast, has several dozen houses constructed in its valley, the roofs sharp, dark points in the otherwise green landscape. There is an abundance of farmland to the left of the homes and a vast body of water to the right. The water of Nanley Lake laps at its shore, a thick line of trees and a natural levee of sediment separating it from the village boundary.

Zayn can’t believe that he’s just become heir to this kingdom. Everything looks beautiful, from the black smoke drifting into the air from the village’s bakehouse to the shine off the onyx walls that surround and protect the castle.

The caravan he has been leading from Tynneshire is catching up with him again, the dozen guards on horses, a carriage for his mum and sisters, two wagons full of their personal items from home and a third for their household staff are altogether creating such a noise that Zayn had ridden ahead for just a moment, needing a bit of silence. Turning and nodding to the head of the guards sent by Yaser to escort his family to their new home, Zayn clucks at his horse gently to spur him into a slow descent down the edge of the hill.

The gelding snorts a bit in the early morning chill as he responds, the sound of his hooves on the rocks impossible to hear over the creaking behind them of their small parade. The horse shies away from something to their right, Zayn turning his head to eye the tree line suspiciously. He smells a hint of burnt wood and hears a chorus of whines, smiling when he realises one of the wild dragons around Abelwick must have hatched her eggs.

Even disregarding the fast that he’s passed a dragon nest, Zayn is a little uncomfortable. He wishes for a moment that he could be in the carriage with his mum and sisters- has never been one for thrusting himself into the front of any party- but he understands the importance of making his face and style known to the men who now serve his family.

The previous king’s passing had been a surprise to them all. Amir had been relatively young, just a year older than his brother Yaser, but his appreciation of the magic that had bequeathed him the throne had dwindled in the past years, and so had his health. From what Zayn had heard with the way court gossip trickled to Tynneshire slowly, Amir had just gotten betrothed to a pretty girl closer to Zayn’s age than to his own and Endora’s belly had been noticeably round with child in the month before his passing.

Acting with haste, Yaser had left their home when he had first realised Amir was sick, taking his fastest horse and only Preston, his most trusted valet. What had followed after were several days of Zayn, his older sister and his mum trying to put on brave faces for the two youngest girls. They didn’t need Waliyha and Safaa learning that Yaser was attempting to take the crown from his brother’s unborn child in case it hadn’t worked out. The only reason Amir’s dislike for Yaser and his family was kept secret throughout his reign was due to the fact that he wanted to keep the people of Abelwick unaware of their existence. Yaser was trying to rewrite the previous king’s will, bequeathing the kingdom to his betrothed and their unborn issue.

On the eighth day after Yaser had left, Zayn’s magic plagued him consistently from the moment he awoke to the second he fell into a fitful sleep. The incessant buzz from his fingertips to his toes had left him restless, and he’d prepared himself the next morning to tell his mother of his magic’s new development, certain it was meant to warn him of his father’s passing. Instead, Yaser himself had come loudly into their home at the break of dawn, a virtual army of men in royal livery stretching behind him for what seemed like miles.

“I’ve done it,” he had crowed, lifting his wife into his arms and kissing her sound on the lips, wiping away her tears of joy and promising in soft tones to never frighten her or their children like that again. Zayn had stood back while his sisters had hugged their father, the tingling of his magic pulsing strong like a star in his veins. He’d clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling the rhythm quicken and slow in time with his movements as he waited until his father was finally free of the girls.

Yaser had then stood before him with his hands on his son’s shoulders. “I do not believe I am wrong in suggesting that your powers have increased?” he had asked.

“Is that what’s happening?” Zayn had asked in return, looking down at his hands as if he would be able to see the transformation. He had always had a weaker magic than his sisters, efficient enough to heat his bath water or calm frightened animals on their farms, but the absolute sense of power in his veins had seemed to only increase further with his father’s touch.

“You’ve come into your birthright,” Yaser had explained. “Your magic is preparing its heir for the day you’ll take the throne. I’ve felt my magic grow strong these last few months since my brother turned his back on yet another wife and took up a mistress in the hopes of converting Abelwick into a hereditary monarchy. I felt the final surge the day my brother passed and rode to Abelwick so quickly that I was able to inform the army of the news before Endora could.”

“What happened next?” Waliyha had asked, hands resting on Yaser’s arm.

Yaser had smiled, using his free hand to tug first Safaa and then Doniya closer. “I told them what the magic had done, how it had given me notice of my birthright, and the entire group of soldiers before me had taken a knee as one and offered their oaths of fealty.”

“What have you been doing since then?” Zayn’s mum then asked, the corners of her mouth too upturned to be classified as a frown but the look on her face one of disapproval and concern.

“I’ve been running a kingdom, woman,” Yaser had teased, leaving his daughters to kiss his wife once again. “I must return, but I am leaving with you a dozen of my strongest men to escort my family to their new home. Zayn will lead the convoy as my heir and right-hand man.”

Zayn feels the memory of his father’s words soothe him again now the same way they had done when he’d first heard that his father was entrusting him with such responsibility. He lets his gelding guide its own pace down the rocky hillside, knowing that there is no sense in rushing as their group will be delayed by its sheer size alone. Only a herald is before him in the line, having ridden ahead to announce his arrival and is too far away now to be clearly seen.

The bottom of the hill is a sharp dip, a trench constructed to slow any attacking force before they reach the flat land of the village. One of the guards has powers much stronger than Zayn’s, as he conjures a thick, flat bridge from rocks and branches that spans the trench in order to allow for the carriage and wagons to safely cross. A last bend divides them from the main gates to the city, and Zayn pulls his horse to a stop just before they round it.

Exiting her carriage in a fresh dress, Zayn’s mum mounts a white mare with help from a soldier, fixing a piece of hair that has come loose from her silver diadem sat atop her loose hair. She looks every inch a queen coming to claim her throne, though Zayn knows she’s never before been away from her home and she has never been in front of the amount of people they saw from the top of the hill, all of them awaiting their arrival. He’s the only one close enough to see the tremble in her hands as she grips her reins, steering her mare forward with a soft sound of encouragement and a quickly fixed smile on her lips.

Zayn holds back his horse so he’s a half-head behind his mother, letting the queen ride before him and receive the king’s formal welcome once they reach the edge of the town. Yaser is on a dark bay horse that is easily an entire hand taller than Trisha’s mare. He doesn’t let that stop him from leaning in and cupping her chin gently, kissing her forehead and each cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips in front of the townspeople gathered to greet the new king’s family.

Staring openly at his parents as they greet each other, looking no different than a young man blessing his bride instead of a couple who has been married for over two decades, Zayn wishes for a moment that he had already found his soulmate. He has always looked up to the love his parents share, their bond stronger than many around them, and he hopes that he will find his own soon; he is impatient for the day when his magic will find its mate in the soul of another. Monarchs whose souls have mated tend to rule more successfully than those who have not, as evidenced by his uncle. Amir’s betrothed and his earlier two wives were never his soulmates, so the magic seems to have passed over the child conceived outside of a bond in favour of the closest blood match with a soul bond, which is Yaser.

His sisters greet their father next. Doniya and Waliyha are on white mares like their mother but Safaa is on a sweet palomino pony, grinning wide when her father reaches his hand down to her with a laugh. They look like the perfect picture of a healthy and happy family, a tableau Zayn knows Yaser has carefully calculated. The villagers are painfully aware of Amir’s aversion to magic and they may not all accept Yaser’s explanation of why he is the king in place of Amir’s chosen heir. Yaser is trying to show the townsfolk that he is a kind, family-oriented man and the complete opposite of his brother.

Though Zayn is aware that it appears as though his father has betrayed the previous king- knows the events that unfolded look more like an uncle seizing the throne from its rightful ruler than a man coming into his birthright- he knows that the magic is never mistaken. Every monarch of Abelwick has shaped the kingdom and its capital city in different ways, and even the unpopular or unsuccessful rulers have been necessary for Abelwick’s further growth. The Malik dynasty has ruled the throne of Abelwick since its inception, with the magic passing from queen to king or between siblings and cousins, each transfer explaining itself through time.

Zayn is curious as to the reason why his uncle was chosen over his father to begin with as the magic doesn’t care about birth order in the way hereditary monarchies do, but he knows better than to assume Amir’s impact has died along with him. All will reveal itself in due time, and he tries to remind himself that it doesn’t matter why his father wasn’t king to begin with: he is king now and Zayn is Crown Prince and he needs to start acting like it.

The girls move aside, leaning down from their horses’ backs to accept picked flowers and small trinkets from the village children, dozens eager to catch a glimpse of the pretty and smiling new princesses. Zayn bites his bottom lip in a final show of anxiety before forcing a smile onto his own lips, waving slightly to a small group of young boys that are staring up at him with awe.

Nudging his horse gently with his heel, Zayn approaches his father finally, pulling his gelding beside Yaser’s war stallion.

“My son,” Yaser says, voice as warm and eyes as kind as they have ever been. He lifts a hand, pressing his palm to Zayn’s forehead and curling the tips of his fingers along Zayn’s skull gently. He whispers an ancient blessing softly, foreign words whose meaning has been lost through time though Zayn feels the gentle graze of his father’s magic against his own. He pictures the tendrils of wispy smoke trailing through him, calming at the visual. He has never been as aware of his magic as he is now, so close to his new home and the source of his family’s powers.

Though magic hadn’t started in his family, it had certainly found his ancestors early on. Their magic had been infantile and weak, nothing like even the mild powers Zayn had been used to before his father had ascended to the throne. Still, the people of their land had misunderstood and feared the magic they now possessed. Gathering those with them who had magic or who had taken an oath of fealty to protect magic with their lives, they had made their way across meadowlands and valleys until they passed the edges of the known world.

There, on a raised and flattened mound near the base of the tallest hill, one woman had felt the power stirring in her completely unlike what she had ever felt before. Sara Malika had quickly established herself as queen of their new settlement, receiving the full support of the group of outsiders. Many others experienced an increase in their powers, but her magic was the strongest by far and her way of rule was just and fair.

Abelwick Castle had been constructed quickly with the people’s newfound powers, their seclusion on the edge of the mapped lands enough that they had free rein to gather and use the most valuable resources to build- black granites and marbles carved with the flick of a wrist and a flash of light to construct the imposing fortress that would become the base for their kingdom. The portcullis was inlaid with black pearls from Nanley Lake and the windows were made with fortified glass, all enchanted with the strongest of the queen’s magic in order to protect their people from any further torment from those who hadn’t understood them.

As Sara had grown older and the newly-formed Malik dynasty was threatening to end with her lack of heirs, disagreements had broken out amongst the group as to who was to inherit her throne after her. Saddened by the unrest, feeling that her beloved magical kingdom had caused the tension, Sara had gone to her courtyard garden with her beautiful and magically-enriched yellow roses blooming around her. There she had knelt, digging her hands into the soft dirt. She’d whispered words in her native tongue, the same blessing repeated by their family to this day even though they no longer know what the words mean, and had sent her magic back into the ground beneath her beloved castle.

On the queen’s passing, a female cousin began exhibiting signs of stronger, white magic similar to that which Sara’s had been. Her magic was weaker than Sara’s powers, but she had stepped into the vacated role and ruled until her own death, upon which the magic once again selected a new monarch.

As the new generations ascended to the throne, the magnitude of their powers had only decreased. Some of the citizens of Abelwick became curious of the magic and its source, starting a small college of scholars whose focus was distinguishing the difference between the natures of the powers exhibited. They became stronger as they studied, their white and pale yellow magic slowly taking on colours: gold for those who exhibited healing strengths, dark blue when one has a particular affinity for knowledge, green when they show a connection to the earth and nature.

The scholars soon began sharing their knowledge and instructing the community, and it became customary for the monarch to consult with them, especially in the beginnings of their reigns.

Over the generations, the coloured magic spread throughout the population with no pattern of hereditary or genetics. While most of the villagers and other servants possess some form of magic to this day, it is often white or pale yellow magic. Some families may have children with gold or green magic, and the scholars- now known as the Elders due to their average age- help guide and direct those with specific abilities. Most monarchs have white magic as well, though Yaser’s has a bit more blue in it than others. The guard consists of men and women with red magic, strong defensive powers that can keep a king safe. Rumours of a sorcerer with grey magic- which would make him more powerful than the first queen had been- have found their way to Tynneshire in the past, and Zayn feels anticipation in his gut at the thought of being near one so powerful.

He rides next to his father as they make their way along the winding road that leads through the village to the fortified walls of their castle home, the lane lined with townspeople. Most of the faces they see are smiling and sweet, with only a few that aren’t as happy to see them. Zayn notes the faces that seem particularly upset, most likely sullen citizens who learned to fear magic from Amir’s dislike. These people are the ones they will need to convince to take their side first; part of the crops from every household goes towards feeding the military that may be needed once the neighbouring lands learn of the new king. If any villager doesn’t consent to sharing their crops, their potential military campaign could suffer.

The road passes several taverns and inns with larger groups gathered around. They stop briefly to say their hellos, Yaser holding himself tall in his saddle as if he’s been king his entire life and not simply for a fortnight. When they reach the last turn from the village before the fortress walls, they stop one last time. Here, Zayn and his father dismount, shaking hands with and greeting the village sheriff and his family in front of their manor home not unlike the one in which Zayn has lived up until now.

The sheriff of a village should not be living in a home equal in size to the brother of a king, though Zayn knows his father’s relationship with Amir was not typical. With the castle so near, though, Zayn does find it curious that a sheriff would be elevated so high above the other townspeople. Not looking to disrespect the sheriff, Zayn keeps his smile on his face and steps aside for his sisters and mother to greet the family as well. The sheriff and his wife have several children, four girls and a boy that seem to be all around the ages of Zayn and his sisters. Safaa and the youngest girl taking a liking to each other immediately, and it takes a stern tone for his father to convince Safaa to remount her pony.

As he’s waiting for the formalities to finish and for his sisters to settle again on their horses, Zayn’s eyes are pulled to the group of servants stood between the sheriff’s family and the door. Two lads near the back of the group stand out to him, one with golden hair and the other with a shade of brown so unlike Zayn’s own that it isn’t fair to classify them as the same colour. His magic flickers a bit in his chest, as though he’s seeing an old friend for the first time in a long time, and he smiles at the lads. They are clearly soulmates, their body language relaxed and their fingers loosely linked.

They must feel the same sense of recognition because they smile at Zayn almost in unison. His magic is recognising them and Zayn knows they’ll be good friends to him in the future. He nods in acknowledgment, lifting a rein in one hand and half-waving. The brunette’s smile grows wider and he waves back, his mate jutting out his chin in the way lads always do. Zayn feels a bit giddy; he knows it is ridiculous, but he’s never really had a friend outside of his sisters as there were no children in Tynneshire around his age.

He reluctantly turns his focus back to his horse when his father mounts his own stallion, riding away with one last curious look over his shoulder. The blonde one is looking at him with the same half-smirk he’d been wearing and Zayn returns it easily before he faces forward again and rides closer to his new home.

 

 

The road up the hill is winding and steep, the horses picking their way past the smooth rocks and gravel that mark the pathway. The fortress walls are high and imposing, stone blacker than soot and smoother than glass rising above them. Magic hums from every inch, as if the castle is greeting Zayn. He watches his father in front of him, swaying with the gait of his horse and appearing larger than life.

It’s always been that way with Yaser: he’s always been a huge monolith of a man, carrying around Zayn and his sisters on his shoulders, but something about his new title and birthright magic is keeping his shoulders back further and his head held higher than ever before. He looks every inch the king.

They ride under the raised portcullis and into the part of the city enclosed within the walls. Black pearls and jewels pressed into the archway are catching the light and casting bright sunspots onto the ground. The entire caravan comes to a stop in a semi-circle with Yaser in the middle and Zayn on his right. They swing their legs over their horses’ backs in unison before going to help Trisha and Doniya dismount as well, two guards assisting Waliyha and Safaa. It’s all overly formal, the stiff ways they are moving, practiced movements that Yaser had told them would be examined with fine-toothed combs and beady eyes by those unsure of the new monarch. The entire family and their guard will need to work and move as a seamless unit, it’s the surest way to convey their strength.

Zayn’s mum elects to take her daughters around the grounds for a bit of a stretch after their long journey in the carriage, as Zayn follows his father further through the outer courtyard. Their steps are steady but their footfalls are lighter now than they had been when the riders had fallen into formation that morning, when they’d come to escort the king’s family into the city. The majority of the riders stay back with the only people following them being the two guardsmen who had helped Zayn’s sisters from their mounts. Zayn recognises them, of course, as Yaser’s closest confidantes. Their own presence has changed along with Yaser’s, as they are holding themselves prouder as well. They seem confident in their roles as the king’s right-hand men.

The four of them make their way across the yard and under the long, arched tunnel leading to the inner courtyard, where two grand entrances greet them. One is up a short stack of four stone steps, a set of ebony wood doors so dark they resemble marble set back against the castle’s outermost wall. The archway over it is just as finely detailed as the portcullis, and Zayn wonders how many people attempt to chip off the precious jewels even though they know the gems carry a terrible curse for any who steal them. The entirety of the castle and town below are the same, Zayn thinks as they approach the second, smaller set of doors: everything in the area belongs to the magic that enriches the soil and protects the inhabitants. When people leave, they often have withdrawal-like symptoms; when enemies attack, the very ground below their feet becomes gnarly and rough, as if nature herself is protecting her powers.

The second set of doors is possibly even more extravagantly decorated, with stones of amethyst and jade being the first colours Zayn has seen in the actual structure of the buildings apart from some of the stained-glass windows. He feels the power and healing radiating from the respective stones as he passes through the doors, as well as the protection they offer. He isn’t sure of where the doorway is leading them- knows the other set would lead to the castle itself- but his confusion is settled soon when they’re all inside and the doors close behind them, the pitch-black of the room suddenly bright when the torches lining the walls flicker to life.

The room stretches out before them from where they stand at the top of a stairway overlooking the sunken floor below. A long aisle runs through the center of the room, tables on either side piled high with dozens of machines and gadgets that Zayn doesn’t recognise and maps that, if he squints, he can see represent both the areas around and the skies above Abelwick.

At the foot of the stairs stand five individuals, and Zayn follows his father down each step until they’re on the same level. To his surprise, it’s Yaser who bows his head in greeting and deference and he follows suit quickly. The magic radiates off of the women and men before them, so strong it almost makes Zayn’s nose tickle as if it is in a physically manifested form. He knows right then that these are the Elders, the most powerful amongst them.

Though the Elders are typically the oldest among them in physical age- as their magic has matured the longest- there is a female child before him. When Zayn lifts his head again and makes eye contact with her, he gasps silently as he meets her deep, dark eyes; he knows then that this is a meta’tem, a soul that has reincarnated and retained its memories from its previous lives. He wonders briefly if this is the sorcerer he’s heard of- the one whose magic is grey and who is rumoured to have been foretold of as the one who would save their kingdom from the largest invasion it will ever know.

“King Yaser,” the woman at the front of the group says, pulling Zayn’s attention back to her as she acknowledges Yaser’s deference with a slight nod of her head. “Welcome to our temple. My name is Natalie.”

Natalie commands respect and attention, standing straight with her long, stark-white hair loose around her shoulders and reaching past her waist. Another woman and two men stand behind her along with the child, all of similar heights and postures with varying lengths and shades of greying hair. One of the men has a beard that’s nearly as long as Natalie’s hair, deep grey with streaks of black showing through stubbornly. When he notices Zayn looking, he smiles and winks, his beard transforming instantly to a brilliant blue like the skies above the city.

Zayn startles, laughing in shock and then wincing at the way the sound reverberates through the quiet room. The Elder laughs as well, turning his beard back to its original colours after a moment. The meta’tem also laughs, a shockingly childlike sound that matches her outward appearance but not the soul visible in her eyes. Yaser shifts next to Zayn as if he’s uncomfortable with the break in the family’s serious exterior, but Natalie smiles as if she is charmed.

“Steven likes to break the tension,” she apologises on his behalf, sending him another warm look over her shoulder. “Though it seems that he’s always the one to adamantly insist we appear as if we live up to our reputation in the beginning when we meet new monarchs.”

“How many…” Zayn starts before he trails off, unsure if his question would be received as rude.

“Yes?” Steven prompts him, his voice surprisingly smooth for his obvious age.

“How many monarchs have you met?” he asks after a moment of working up the courage. “I mean, how many have you greeted into their reign?”

“It varies amongst us,” the second woman says. “I’ve met the most, your father is my ninth.”

“Actually,” the meta’tem says with a grin, “Karah isn’t exactly correct. I’ve crowned all of the rulers of Abelwick, though Yaser is my first in _this_ form.” The Elders laugh again, and Yaser relaxes a bit. Zayn feels calmer as well.

They all follow Natalie to the front of the room, Zayn peering curiously at all of the unknown things around. A touch to his hand startles him, and he turns to see the meta’tem.

“My name is Jasmine, not ‘meta’tem’.”

“You can read my thoughts?” he asks, almost unsurprised. He’s felt a bit of magic pushing at him since he’s been in the temple, and he’s relieved to know he wasn’t making things up.

“Only when they’re about me,” she answers in a tone that conveys that she believes she is being reassuring. “Although, to be fair, I can sense your interest in the magic that surrounds you. That’s a good sign. Not everyone is.”

“Who wouldn’t be interested?”

She smiles sadly, stopping when they get to the front of the room. “A lot of people don’t seem interested. Your uncle was unconcerned with magic, though it is magic that chose him to be king. That’s why you never came to court- the way your family embraces magic was a threat to him.”

She walks away at that, joining Steven on the side of the raised platform at the head of the room. Zayn stands, confused as he thinks over her words. His uncle hadn’t been unkind to them, as it were; he had hosted Yaser at court on a few occasions but always with express instructions to leave his wife and children home. King Amir had never wanted the people of Abelwick to see his brother’s family while he remained childless, having married and divorced two barren women from good families.

Once he’d met his betrothed and she had become pregnant, Zayn was sure he’d finally be able to come to court. He’d always wanted to study, had heard tales of the two-story library inside the castle. He just never thought it would be under these circumstances.

He stares, transfixed, as the Elders raise their hands as one, the bare marble between them transforming into a fresh patch of soil before his eyes. As he watches, a stem grows and forms into a tree stump, branching off and sprouting thousands of leaves. The leaves bloom as the tree continues growing larger, their buds pink and white before they flower and fall, green leaves taking their place.

A dark black patch of what is clearly rotted wood spreads up the middle of the stump, eating a bit into the trunk but leaving the majority untouched. Karah and Jasmine both frown when it appears, but seem to relax when it soon stops spreading. The tree blooms and sheds three times before it stills, and the Elders lower their hands.

“What does this mean?” Yaser asks after a silent moment, the Elders sharing long looks between them.

“This is the tree of your reign,” the second man says. “It will be planted in our garden in the castle’s courtyard, next to the trees of all the Queens and Kings of Abelwick before you. The continued bloom cycle signifies the likelihood of your continued control of the kingdom.”

“And the rot?” he prompts.

“The tree does have signs of distress,” the Elder concedes. “This is a large spot that is concerning, as it represents a large challenge for the throne you will face as king. A tough reign has been foretold and there is a possibility it may be yours.”

Natalie waits until Joseph is done speaking but then she cuts in before Zayn or his father can ask the obvious next question: _From where and at what time will the challenge come?_ “We cannot say anything further than that. We do not know, at this time, who will issue the challenge or if it will even be what has been foretold.”

Zayn has a feeling he knows who could have a claim to the throne, though; the unborn child of Amir would be the only one close enough. Zayn can imagine the neighbouring enemies gathering behind the child, hoping to usurp Yaser and set someone on the throne that will be raised to hate and stomp out magic. His father seems to reach the same conclusion, nodding.

“Thank you for your insight,” Yaser says with another bow, lower this time than before. Zayn copies him, ducking his shoulders and his head and holding the pose for a long moment until he rises. Jasmine smiles at him, possibly trying for reassuring but the expression is out of place on a child. She smirks at his thought and he flushes, having forgotten about her mental link, the push of her magic becoming second-nature to him.

“We are always here if you require our counseling,” Natalie says.

“Please come back anytime you’d like,” Jasmine says, looking only at Zayn. “Especially you, Zayn. The Crown Prince holds more magic than most, as you are being primed by your powers to one day possibly inherit Abelwick. Magic will try and test you throughout your father’s reign, and it will judge you on the day of your father’s death. You would do well to hone your skills now that you have our advanced warning. Amir was childless and uninterested in the end of his days; I would recommend that neither of you make his same mistakes.”

“I will return as often as you’ll have me,” Zayn promises. He, his father and their two men turn around and make their way back down the aisle between the magical equipment. Yaser’s foot has just touched the top of the first step when Steven’s voice calls out from the back.

“Bring Safaa with you as well, Zayn.”

They turn around, startled. “Safaa?” Yaser asks.

“Your youngest daughter has the strongest healing powers I’ve sensed in decades,” he answers. “The soul bond between you and your queen has produced some very powerful children, a feat which is remarkable for the Malik dynasty. It has been generations without a powerful sorcerer in the ruling family; we anticipate great things from all of you.”

For a moment, Yaser looks torn between pride and something that appears taken aback so he just nods and turns back to make his way up the stairs.

The open air of the inner courtyard is startlingly fresh, Zayn not having realised how closed-up the Elder’s temple was until he was outside of it. A brisk wind picks up, stealing a feather from one of the guard’s caps. Zayn watches it drift away on the breeze, mesmerised. Something in him tugs at his gut, as if his magic wants him to follow the path the feather is seemingly laying out for him. He resists the strange urge, his magic quieting as he turns to his father.

“That was… interesting,” he says, for lack of a better word.

Yaser smiles. “Those are the most intelligent people in our entire universe, but they are a bit strange aren’t they?” Zayn laughs, relaxing. “Want to see your rooms?” his father asks next.

“Absolutely,” Zayn agrees.

They make their way through the larger set of doors and into the castle, the interior completely different from the Elders’ temple; here, there are ceiling-to-floor windows, light spilling in rows across the marble floors. The panes nearest the ceiling are stained purple for their heraldic colours, casting a soft glow. Zayn brings his hand up, palm out, to feel the way the magic of the castle radiates off of the panes.

“It’s everywhere,” his father says, and Zayn turns around to look at him. “Growing up here, the magic surrounds you and encourages your growth. It strengthens not only your magic but also your mind. I’m sorry that my relationship with my brother was such that you never got to experience Abelwick properly.”

“Not like it’s your fault,” Zayn says, smiling. “Besides, I’m here now and I don’t think I’ve wanted for anything. You’ve been the most wonderful father and I know- and the Elders know- that you are going to be a great king. The magic chose you.”

“And one day the magic may choose you as well. We need to start begin your training in earnest.”

“Training?”

“As the Crown Prince of Abelwick, you are expected to know how to lead this nation in times of war, famine and drought.”

Zayn feels a bit dumb for a moment. “I didn’t think those things happened here,” he admits. “I mean, I knew of war, of course. But I never thought Abelwick went through hard times.”

“The magic works in cycles,” Yaser explains. “Every so often, usually two or three years, the magic recedes into the ground for an undetermined period of time. The last couple times, during my brother’s reign, the magic stayed underground for years at a time. Amir never had much interest in magic, so magic never had the urge to help him.”

“Why did it choose him, then? If the magic chooses the monarch, wouldn’t it pick you?”

“I know this may not be the answer you’re looking for, but the magic doesn’t always act logically. Amir was very different when we were younger, he was invested in Abelwick and the magic probably sensed that. Most of the queens and kings have had minimal magic, but they ruled well despite their limitations. Abelwick has enough magic of its own. Something changed during his reign and Amir didn’t want to be the king of a magic nation any longer. The magic bid its time until a new ruler could be chosen.”

“You,” Zayn says. “You were chosen.”

Yaser nods in acknowledgment, holding out his hand and drawing Zayn closer to him before letting his hands fall to his side again. They resume walking, making their way further into the castle. The floor is natural marble from wall to wall, white streaked with varying shades of black and grey, and their boot heels are loud enough to cause echoes to bounce off of the high ceilings. There are dozens of people roaming about, servants and members of their guard alike. They all bow their heads when they pass, Yaser greeting everyone with a smile and a brief greeting.

It takes long minutes to make their way into a side room, a large area meant for military strategies, Zayn reasons when he sees the walls lined with maps similar to the ones they had seen in the temple. These are larger and more detailed, and Zayn approaches one of them to study it further. Their closest enemy to the east, Ketamyre, is portrayed in such detail that Zayn feels as though he is looking down on the land from above. The mountains and valleys are shocking, jagged extremes in height and depth. The only place in the nation that is flat seems to be the same area where the fortress stands, a walled city to keep the residents and their belongings safe. He traces a finger along the crop fields he can see, almost expecting to feel the bumps of rock when he drags over the swell of a mountain top.

His father dismisses the guardsmen with his thanks, taking a moment to bless them for their assistance to him that day. Zayn’s seen Yaser bless stable boys and kitchen maids before, even when they’d lived far from court, but hearing his _King_ do so now is somehow very different.

He ducks his head as he turns around, trying to contain his smile. “You seem different,” he says.

Yaser grins back at him and takes a seat at the table, rolling up a paper map and setting it to the side as he indicates for Zayn to take the spot across from him. “I am different. You are, too, you know. I could sense your magic had gotten stronger when I went back home, but it is different still when it’s here. I noticed almost immediately when you rode in with your mother.”

“I’ve noticed the same thing. Thought it was all in my head. It seems stronger inside the castle than it even had when we were speaking with the sheriff’s family. Is that possible?”

Yaser pauses for a moment before nodding. “It seems possible, but not because of what you’re probably thinking. I would guess that your magic is stronger here because your soulmate might be within the castle. Maybe your magic is trying to lead you to them.”

Zayn’s lips part, jaw slack at his father’s words. Soulmates are common enough to be the norm in their society, but knowing that he’s closer to meeting his mate than he had realised is a surprise. Zayn doesn’t know what about it is a shock, exactly; clearly, the population of Abelwick is exponentially higher than the village where he was raised but hearing his father hypothesise that his soulmate was _here_ , possibly in this very castle, has Zayn sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders.

Yaser laughs. “Your mum is going to be overjoyed,” he says. “She’s been waiting for you kids to find your mates since almost before you lot were born. Wants grandchildren.”

Zayn bites his lip at that, his breathing moderately heavy. “What if…?” He begins, pausing when he can’t find a way to force out the words. His father hums for him to continue. “What if my match is another lad? What would happen then?”

His father pauses at that as well, thinking for a moment. Zayn’s never kept his preference a secret, and his parents have always treated his boyhood dalliances with lads the same way they would have if he was sneaking off to kiss girls instead, but he knows that his job as a future King of Abelwick will include providing potential heirs.

“I think,” Yaser says after a moment, “that the magic is far smarter than we are. Its interests lie in cultivating lasting relationships for its monarchs. Abelwick needs a happy king, not one who is miserably tied to a woman he doesn’t desire. I feel confident your match will be a male, my child.”

Zayn nods, not altogether reassured. His father must sense this because he speaks again after a moment.

“A soul match doesn’t require a marriage, you know. Sometimes having a close trust relationship will satisfy the magic.”

“What about heirs?”

“You underestimate the magic, Zayn. All will happen in its time; there is no sense in worrying today. Today is a day for celebration. Let’s find your mother and sisters.”

Accepting the clear dismissal of the topic, Zayn stands with his father and follows him out the same door they had entered through. The amount of people bustling about has grown while they’ve been talking, men and women alike carrying large tapestries, rugs, curtains and bedding, all in bright, jeweled tones. Some use magic to direct Zayn’s family’s belongings, others carry them over their shoulders or in their arms. Their conversations are floating around the large room, so many bodies present that the echoes have no room to form.

“Zayn, come see!” Safaa calls out from behind him. He turns and smiles, returning the hug she gives him before she’s tugging his arm and pulling him away from the main entrance, towards the giant staircase leading to their bedchambers. He’s surprised and intrigued in turn when she bypasses the stairs and tugs him behind them, out another door and down a few steps into a garden.

He understands immediately, Natalie and Steven overseeing the planting of Yaser’s tree. It seems larger out in the sunlight, next to all of the other trees representing Abelwick’s royal history. Amir’s tree is short and narrow, hardly any leaves or bark on the branches past the middle of the trunk. Zayn wonders what his uncle had thought when his tree grew; he wonders if it was then that Amir first felt distrust for magic, when it foretold his short and relatively bland reign.

“Mama says it is baba’s royal tree. Do I get one, too?” Safaa asks, leaning her temple on his arm and looking up at him.

“If you become queen, you sure do,” Zayn answers.

She pouts at that for a moment. “I don’t very much like the idea of being queen. I want to be just me, just Safaa.”

Remembering what the elders had said, Zayn tugs at her hand to get her attention again. “I’ve something to tell you.”

“Is it something nice?” she asks, always wary.

He laughs and nods. “We saw the Elders today, and they asked me to bring you to them.”

“Me?” she asks, eyes widening and jaw dropping. “They want to see _me_?”

“Yep. They think you’re some all-powerful healer. I told them you’re just my silly littlest sister, though, so I’m not sure if they want you anymore.”

Her light blue eyes flash, a small buzz of magic striking his palm where they are still holding hands. He tugs his fingers free, laughing, as she turns and marches back up the stairs. “Mama, Zayn’s telling tales,” she tattles in a holler, glaring at him once more before she ducks back into the castle.

Laughing still, he turns to look back at the tree. Steven is looking over at him with a smile of his own, and he turns his eyebrows green and his beard yellow while Zayn looks and then back to white when Natalie catches him.

“She’s got the gift, for certain,” Natalie says when Zayn approaches. “I can sense it even stronger when she’s so close. Her powers far surpass yours, which is rare; it would not surprise me if the magic chooses her when the time comes for the next monarch. Abelwick is due for some true sorcery at the helm.”

For some reason, her words don’t upset Zayn the way they may have. He doesn’t think he would mind if the magic chose someone other than himself; he’s only been in Abelwick a matter of a few short hours and he already trusts the power coursing through the air. He will serve Abelwick in any way he can, even if that means not being on the throne.

“I think that would be okay,” he says out loud. “I will, however, be over to learn everything you can teach me. I’ll give them all a run for their money.”

Looking pleased at that, Natalie nods. “That’s a good attitude to have, Prince.”

Suddenly, a light, delicious smell drifts to him. He sniffs the air, taking in the scent of fresh bread with something else hiding underneath it, a musky scent that reminds him of the way the air smells just after a rainstorm, when the earth is still damp and soft.

“What is that?” he asks the Elders before him.

Steven smiles wide for some reason at Zayn’s question, rubbing his hands together in front of his robes- which look navy in the light though Zayn had been sure they were black when they were inside the temple. “And so it begins,” he says cryptically.

“What begins?” Zayn asks.

“Our guidance,” Natalie says before Steven can speak again. “He’s referring to our guidance.”

“Am I going to ask you a lot of questions, then?” he asks with a wry smile. “I tend to do that: ask me dad, I must have bothered him with a dozen questions already today.”

“We welcome all the questions you may have for us,” she assures him. “To answer your first one: that smell is from the bake house.”

Zayn’s previous village had a small bake house built between the homes of the families that lived there. They had used it frequently, but his house was too far away to catch the scent often. Instead, when he was five and the structure was completed, he would beg Doniya or his mum to take him. He’d get on his pony with their help, Doniya sometimes taking her own though their mother would walk alongside them, and they’d make their way down the small road separating their house from the villagers. He’d settle just outside the doors, letting the smell of the cooking drift over him.

He especially liked when the villagers would make their sweets, more so when the women would smile at him and give him a small piece of what they made. He best loved the fritters, his patience never allowing him to wait longer than a moment before he’d bite into the battered apple rings. It would always be too hot still and make a mess of his face that his mum would sigh at, either when she had come with him or when he’d return home with a stray spot of grease that he’d inevitably miss when wiping at his mouth, but it would be the best bite he’d have for a month so it would be worth it.

His stomach rumbles now at the memory of those apple fritters, and he heads off in the direction Natalie indicates. He doesn’t have any intention of bothering the people who are inside, but he peeks his head around the doorframe to observe.

Inside are two men around his age, a compact brunette about Zayn’s height with his back to Zayn and the other a tall lad with brown curls. Neither of them sees him, the two having some kind of laughing discussion until the shorter boy puts his fingers into a bowl of what looks like dough, flicking it at the other. His aim is too true, and Zayn knows then that he, at least, has magic as well. He hadn’t caught the colour of the spark, the boy’s body blocking his view, but one spot of raw dough lands on the taller lad’s forehead, the others falling in a semi-circle around his eye and across his cheek.

“Louis,” the curly lad whines, wiping his face and flicking his wrist, a pale green spark flying from his fingers towards the shorter boy- _Louis_ , Zayn thinks, smiling for some reason at the name- in retaliation. Louis ducks even as he deflects the spark easily with a wave of his hand.

The sound of his laughter startles Zayn. Something about it is striking and near-intoxicating. The rush of magic in the air catches him by surprise, as if the bake house is making their magic appear exponentially more potent. He shakes his head and tries to shift his weight, a buzz filling his ears in the wake of the laughter, but he over balances and stumbles, kicking against the step up into the bake house with a dull thud.

At the sound, both boys look at him. The taller one looks amused for a moment, mouth opening to say something, most likely a greeting. Zayn isn’t sure exactly what it could be, as he turns his focus quickly to Louis, a pull in his gut that is urging him to do so being nearly impossible to ignore.

At the exact moment their eyes meet, Zayn’s magic flares deep inside his soul. It feels like an explosion of fireworks, like his blood is burning through his veins right through his skin. The buzz in his ears intensifies, drowning out the thoughts he is definitely having about the shade of Louis’ eyes- the perfect blue like the point on the horizon where the sky meets the water- or the shape of his jaw- sharp and strong, dotted with scruff that’s a few days old but not yet thick.

The buzz gets so loud that, for a moment, Zayn wants to clap his hands over his ears even though he knows that makes no sense, knows the sound is coming from the magic within him. He can’t turn away, can’t blink, can’t do anything but stare. He barely remembers to keep his mouth closed, thinks he gasps at the sheer power of the sound.

Then Louis’ lips part and the buzz instantly dies away, the haze in Zayn’s head clears and even his magic settles and calms as if it’s listening for Louis’ every breath.

“Hi,” is all he says but the single syllable replaces the fog in Zayn’s mind, muted and soothing where the previous sound had been distracting and grating.

He realises with a start that he’s still stood mute in the doorway, and he steps up and inside. “I- yes. Hi. Hello,” he stutters, holding out his hand.

Louis smiles brightly, the corners of his lips quirked. Zayn has a brief moment of panic where he thinks Louis isn’t going to hold his hand out in return, but then he does and their palms slide together and any lingering doubt Zayn had about the boy in front of him instantly dissipates when they touch and a spark lights up between their skin.

The magic has led him right to Louis, who- Zayn is quickly realising- is his soulmate.

 

 

“I’m not really sure what to do now,” Zayn whispers to Louis the afternoon after they meet. He hasn’t told his parents yet, has been avoiding them since his and Louis’ hands had touched and a connection had formed.

“What?” Louis asks, stood on a ladder over Zayn as he reaches for a book on the topmost shelf of the castle’s double-story library. He looks down at Zayn, waiting for him to repeat what he’d said. When he does, Louis just shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Zayn groans, frustrated and charmed all at once. “Aren’t you some great sorcerer, shouldn’t you know?” he asks.

Louis grins at that, teeth sharp against his thin bottom lip. “Harry told you?”

Zayn doesn’t answer, shrugging like Louis had just done. Louis turns back to his shelf, searching for something in particular. He’d come to Zayn that morning and informed him, without leaving room for argument, that he would be taking over Zayn’s princely education. The first step in that, he’d said, was a very specific book that they needed right away. They’ve been searching the library for thirty minutes already, Louis’ magic apparently useless in locating objects. He’s used it excessively in front of Zayn already, but he’s always too fast for Zayn to catch the colour. He knows Louis is too powerful to have yellow or white like him, the magic radiates off of him in waves, but he’s desperately curious to know.

Finally, finding the book he wants, Louis climbs down from the ladder and steps closer to him. Zayn has realised how much he likes being in Louis’ direct space, as if his soul is relaxed most when they’re at their closest. Even now, when he’s stressing about how best to break the news to his parents, he feels calm when he can smell the faint earthy scent that he’s come to associate with Louis.

“He might’ve done,” Zayn finally says, looking up from the book in Louis’ hands to meet his blue eyes. “Plus, the Elders said something when I visited with Safaa this morning.” He doesn’t mention how much he’d missed Louis overnight, how happy he was when he’d been back in the boy’s presence.

“The Elders are a bunch of nonsense,” he says dismissively, thrusting the book into Zayn’s grasp.

Zayn’s shocked, has never heard of anyone saying something disrespectful about them. “They protect Abelwick,” he defends.

Louis looks at him sideways as he turns away, heading out the door. “Harry didn’t tell you everything, then.”

Puzzled, Zayn glances down at the book again. _Twenty Ways to Kill in Combat_ stares at him from the front cover. “Is this a joke?” he wonders out loud.

Louis ducks his head back around the frame. “If you learn half of those by tomorrow, I’ll teach you the fun ones they leave out.”

Stomach queasy, Zayn mutters a ‘no thanks’ as he follows Louis out of the library, flipping through the pages and feeling more and more sick at the detailed graphics.

 

 

That night, he sneaks out of yet another feast held to celebrate the turn of the monarchy, a dinner held solely for the thinly veiled excuse to throw a party and invite- read: impress- the townspeople who have, so far, been enjoying the celebratory theme of the new king.

It doesn’t take Zayn long to find Harry, the curly lad tucked into a quiet corner of the garden near the hedgerow maze with a book in his hands. Zayn spares it a glance, noting the foreign script on the page, and clears his throat to get Harry’s attention.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Harry asks, not even looking up from his page as he smirks.

Honestly, it’s no wonder he and Louis get on so well, what with Harry taking on all of Louis’ worst traits. Zayn huffs, debating his next words. “Louis said something weird today,” he hedges.

That gets Harry’s attention, his eyes flicking up briefly to meet Zayn’s. “Hmm?”

“I said the Elders protect Abelwick and Louis seemed to deny that. Said you hadn’t told me everything.”

The slow grin that spreads across Harry’s face is borderline obnoxious and smirky, and Zayn wants to know when people will stop sassing him for his ignorance and instead start _teaching_ him. He huffs again and props his hands on his hips.

“Well?” he asks, slightly snappish.

Harry’s smirk fades at that and he sits up on the bench instead of sprawling across it, patting the stone for Zayn to take a seat as well. “Louis’ real powerful, yeah?” he prompts with a question, though Zayn feels like it’s rhetorical since Harry had just told him that the day before.

He nods anyway, encouraging Harry to continue.

“The Elders are good for advice or theory, but it’s actually Louis that keeps Abelwick safe.”

“How so?”

Beaming with clear pride, Harry starts his story, “Louis was left by his mother, many moons ago.” He starts laughing too hard to continue and Zayn rolls his eyes, smiling as well.

“Be serious,” he chides, the command slipping out as easily as it would to one of his younger sisters. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the order, his dimples never fading.

“Louis really was abandoned, though: left at the door to the temple when he was just a baby. Johannah and Natalie took him in and raised him. It had been foretold for ages that there would come a baby with the potential to have a power to rival the first queen’s. At just a month or so old, he was already displaying grey magic like no one- not even Jasmine, now- has seen since Queen Sara. He was almost given the last name ‘Malik’ like your family, as tribute to his oh-so-powerfulness, but Amir had decided against that. I think part of him was worried about giving this infant his name- he’d already been married to a barren woman for several years and was in the process of divorcing her. He didn’t want to establish a rival to the throne, thought it would compel the magic to dispose of him or something.”

Zayn nods, mouth in a tight line. He remembers all too well the way his uncle had feared any threat to his crown- going so far as to keep his own family from visiting court less the townspeople saw his brother’s small brood of children. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Harry soon continues.

“Louis started showing signs very early on of the extent of his powers. Before he was walking, he was floating and hovering in the air. He could do complex spells as soon as he began talking.”

“How long have you known him?” Zayn interrupts, smiling in apology.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. “Practically forever. Mum was a cook in the kitchens before she moved into a house with my step-dad in the village. Louis was always getting away from Jay and Natalie, always toddling about and introducing himself to people. He gave me my magic.”

“He what?” Zayn’s never heard of such a thing- usually people are born with magic or not. No one has been able to share their magic in his understanding.

“I don’t think he knew what he was doing, but I didn’t show any signs of powers until the day I met him when I was just a couple of months old. He wasn’t yet three but he found the bake house one day when mum had me in my bassinet near her so she could work. It was my first day in the castle and he bypassed all of the sweets and fresh breads mum was making and came right up to me, put his hand on my face and whispered something in a language mum didn’t recognise. When Jay had asked her to repeat the word later, to see what Lou had done, mum couldn’t remember.”

“How powerful are you?” Zayn asks, eyes wide.

“Hardly at all. I’ve got just a bit, enough to get the ovens heated to the proper temperature and to start a fire if needed. He didn’t share much.”

Zayn thinks over it for a moment, undeniably curious about his soulmate and his mysterious powers. Harry waits for him to process what he’s heard, flipping through his book again quietly. Finally, Zayn relaxes into his chair again, facing Harry. “How does this lead to him protecting Abelwick?”

“Well, Amir’s second wife delivered a still-born baby when Louis was eight or nine. I don’t remember much of it besides what people always say. I guess Ketamyre,” he says, referring to one of their neighbouring nations, “views still births as signs of distress. They used it as a rallying cry with other enemies of Abelwick, as if they were going to save our kingdom with their invasion, and then they marched on us. No army has ever gotten closer; they were nearing the village and burning down the huts on the outer-edges. Came all the way to the gate.

“The Elders were in a right panicked state. They were doing everything they could to protect the castle but it wasn’t working. This was just before Jasmine was reincarnated, so they were weaker than they are now. All of a sudden, Jay realised Louis was gone. She tried to use her power to get him to come back but he ignored it.”

“Where was he?” Zayn asks when Harry stops for dramatic effect. It takes Zayn a moment to realise what he’s doing, as his speech is relatively slow anyway and he rolls his eyes.

“The fool,” Harry responds with a fond smile, “raised the portcullis and went under it. He was still a bit away from the advancing army, but he was completely vulnerable and out in the open. He raised one of his hands- all casual-like, per the few people who saw him- and just _flicked_ his fingers.” Here, he makes a motion with his own, as if he was brushing aside a fly or something. The utter definition of ‘casual-like’. “Immediately, the entire forefront of men were struck down, most of them still alive but some dying of the shock to their systems from Louis’ magic. It took him no more than a minute or two to cast further spells and cripple enough of the army that the survivors fled.”

Zayn closes his eyes, trying to picture the utter destruction Louis had caused with a few quick gestures. In all of the books Zayn has read- and the fair amount of which were devoted strictly to exploring magic- he has never heard of a child possessing enough power to ‘share’ it with another or of an entire army being dispelled by one solitary sorcerer, no matter the age.

Harry finishes his lengthy story by telling Zayn how Louis’ reputation had spread amongst their enemies, and other nations had amassed their own armies for several years after the first one had been so soundly defeated.

“They haven’t attacked in _ages_ , though,” Harry reassures him. “Louis beat them all so soundly that no one has so much as sneezed in our direction in eight or so years.”

“Explains his ego,” Zayn smirks, watching the dimple form in Harry’s cheek as he hears Zayn’s fond tone.

“That happens when you save the world,” Louis’ voice says from behind them. Zayn hops onto the bench and looks over the hedge behind it to where Louis is sitting with the blond boy from the village that Zayn had seen the day before.

“You were eavesdropping,” Zayn accuses with a grin.

“He’s a slag for praise; he’s probably been following you around since he asked you to come talk to me,” Harry says wisely.

“S’that true?” Zayn asks, trying to keep his grin from growing any fonder.

“Harry’s a liar, as usual,” Louis replies promptly. Pointing at the blonde boy, he says, “This, by the way, is Niall. Says you two had a bit of a connection. Should I be jealous already?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “No, you twat, now come over here and stop spying.”

“Can do,” Louis replies gamely, dragging Niall by the arm around the hedgerow. Zayn can hear Niall and Harry greeting each other, but he doesn’t pay attention while Louis steps closer to him. “Hi,” Louis breathes, fingers brushing the back of Zayn’s hand.

“Is this pull ever going to fade away?” Zayn asks in a whisper.

“I hope not, I quite like it.”

Zayn flushes and ducks his head.

“None of that, now,” Louis tuts, finger lifting Zayn’s chin back up. “You’re the Prince, you don’t look down for anything.”

“Don’t you outrank me?” Zayn asks, his voice breathy and strange. He endures a flash of embarrassment when he realises he’s flirting rather poorly, but Louis’ eyes are bright in the artificial light from the candles enchanted to float in the air around them.

“Never, my prince,” Louis murmurs, stepping away after a long moment in which Zayn is _sure_ Louis is going to kiss him.

Instead, he bounds over to Niall and hops on his back. “Let’s go find Liam and make him say bad words!”

Harry laughs and hangs back with Zayn as the other two make their way, Louis hopping off of Niall’s back after a moment and walking on his own.

“ _That’s_ the most powerful warlock in the world?” Zayn asks, trying for skeptical but hardly containing his tone of fondness.

“Most powerful warlock that ever _lived_ ,” Harry corrects. “And he’ll remind you if you ever forget.”

Zayn makes a mental note to forget as often as possible: he likes the way Louis puffs his chest out when he’s got something to brag about. It’s possible he likes Louis a bit too much for having just met him.

 

 

“I hate this,” he mutters the next day. His sword is awkward, his armor is too heavy and his arm is _sore_ from all the jabbing he’s been doing. Louis’ lying on his side on Zayn’s bed, head propped up on his palm and ankles tucked around each other.

“You’re getting better,” he encourages.

“Can you just show me again?”

Louis rolls his eyes and flops onto his back, flicking his fingers. Immediately, the sword he’d discarded earlier comes to life, sparring with Zayn for a moment. He nearly falls on his arse when he gets caught off-guard, not having a body behind the attacking sword so that he can read their body language for signals on what the next move is.

“Can’t you just show me for real?” Zayn moans when the sword taps him gently on his breastplate.

“No, don’t want to,” Louis answers, like a petulant child.

“How’m I supposed to learn? I can’t do magic like that.” It is true: though his magic is stronger in Abelwick, he still feels drained after the most basic of tasks. Louis could use his magic every moment of the day, could probably rebuild the castle from the ground up, and never tire.

“Just, I don’t know, figure it out.”

Zayn huffs out an annoyed breath and stomps his foot. “Just _show me_ ,” he orders. “Get off your lazy, entitled arse and show me proper.”

Louis turns his head, cheek pressed to the mattress. His blue eyes are sharp as they look at Zayn, and the corners of his lips are tilted up as if he’s trying not to laugh. With a sigh, he rolls gracefully off of the bed and grabs his sword.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” he says with a bow.

Zayn gets irritated, knows he’s being mocked. “Never mind. You don’t take things seriously,” he sulks, slipping his own sword back into its scabbard and stalking out of his room without a backwards glance.

 

 

He sleeps for shit that night, having roamed the castle for over an hour as he waited for Louis to clear out of his room. Finally, he’d gone to bed, but he’d tossed and turned all night. He has bags under his eyes and his mother looks concerned when he comes down for their midday meal.

“Oh love, why aren’t you sleeping?” she asks, brushing his fringe from his face.

“Because I’ve met my soulmate,” he mutters, taking a bite of the fresh fish on his plate. He looks up when she gasps, having not realised what he’d said at first. “Oh, shoot.”

“You’ve _what_?” his mum asks, expression delighted. “When? How? _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ”

“Possibly because I knew _this_ would be your reaction.”

His mum gets up from her seat and comes to him, kissing his cheeks one time each and then pressing a kiss to the spot between his brows. “I’m so, so happy, love. Let’s tell your father.”

Zayn lets himself be tugged up from his chair, sneaking one last bite of the trout before he is pulled out of the room. He followed his mum up the stairs, finding Yaser is an empty meeting room, considering a stack of papers before him.

Even though they’re interrupting, he smiles when he looks up and sees them in the doorway.

“Come in,” he encourages, standing up and greeting them both with a hug. “What can I do for you?”

“Zayn’s met his soulmate,” he mum says a little too eagerly.

“No he hasn’t,” Yaser says with a laugh; seeing Zayn’s irritated expression, he quiets. “So he _was_ in the castle then. When did you meet him?”

“The first day,” he admits. His mum sighs a bit, like she’s disappointed she lost two days that could have been used to get to know her future son-in-law.

“Why did you not tell us?”

Zayn shrugs, looking down at his feet before remembering Louis’ touch to his chin. He holds his head up and meets his father’s eyes. “I wanted to have some time,” he admits. “I’ve heard of soul bonds that didn’t result in love matches before. I just wanted to have something to tell you.”

“Well?” his father prompts. “How do you like this person?

“I like him very much,” Zayn admits. “It’s Louis Tomlinson.”

The king’s eyes widen, practically bugging out of his skull. “Your soul bond is with Louis Tomlinson?”

His pride at the impressed tone his father uses turns to offense very quickly when he pulls a thoughtful face. “Okay,” he says with a pout, “no need to act _so_ taken aback. Wouldn’t I be good enough for a warlock?”

Yaser looks at him fondly, smiling and wrapping his arm around Zayn’s shoulders again. “My child, you are the very, very best and anyone in the whole world would be lucky to have you. It’s just a surprise. The prophecies foretold of a great sorcerer but made no mention of his soulmate. As you know, those with that kind of magic don’t always have soul bonds.”

“Why though?” He’s known, of course, that those who devote their lives to the magic of Abelwick will sometimes say that their land _becomes_ their soul bond. He has just never had much cause to examine it in detail.

“I’m not sure,” his father says, still pensive. “I suppose I always thought that our first queen’s decision to bury her magic was done so in order to keep the powers Abelwick separate from the throne. That way, one single individual would not ever have the power to change this land’s foundation. Magic has always been mild or dim amongst the country folk, sometimes near non-existent amongst the monarchs and strong among those who devote their lives to learning more about their magic. No child had been born to someone with strong magic for generations due to those individuals usually not forming bonds.”

“Is it… wrong?” he asks, hesitating far too long and causing his mum to furrow her brow, worry clear on her face.

“Of course it isn’t wrong, _beta_. Your magic knows what it’s doing. Ignore your father; the man is a fool and doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Yaser pouts exaggeratedly at Trisha, his eyes crinkling when he lets his expression fall and his natural smile replaces his frown. “Your mother is both beautiful and correct,” he tells Zayn, smiling wider when Zayn mimes gagging and shrugs his mum’s hug off playfully. “I don’t know much about our magic, not many do, but I know to trust it. That’s why I rode to Abelwick when I felt the magic calling me. It’s why your mother chose me, though I was a younger son with hardly anything to offer. Your magic is as much a part of you as are your hazel eyes. Trust it implicitly, _beta_ : it has the interests of both you and your kingdom in mind.”

Zayn nods and takes his father’s words seriously. He knows he’s been more interested in his magic than his sisters have growing up, but the weight of what is happening to him seems to finally be sinking in: he’s met his soulmate, his bond, his other half. He’s found the person he’s meant to spend his life and maybe rule Abelwick with. He’s found the single, solitary individual that magic has matched for him.

It’s a lot to take in on top of the whole ‘Crown Prince of Abelwick’ concept he’s been struggling to come to terms with.

“We need to meet him,” Trisha says after a moment.

“Mum, no,” Zayn presses, trying to not sound like a child about to throw a tantrum but knowing he most likely already does. “Dad’s met him anyway; Louis told me about it.”

“I didn’t know he was your soulmate, though. You weren’t in Abelwick yet and your mum still hasn’t met him. We’ll do supper together tonight.”

“Can’t tonight,” Zayn says, petulant. “You’ve another feast tonight. It seems you’ve nothing _but_ feasts, forever.”

“We have gone a bit overboard with the open meals, haven’t we?” his mum frets, looking to her husband.

“We may have indulged our villagers in a few too many parties,” Yaser concedes. “But tonight is the last feast and tomorrow are the festival games. I’m sure you’ll sit those out, Zayn?”

Zayn narrowly avoids rolling his eyes. “Yeah, m’not going to joust or sword fight or anything. Can barely keep my arm up with all my gear on.”

“It’s something you’ll grow used to,” his father says. “Soon you’ll be wielding a sword like the best trained sportsman. Louis has taken on the duties of your training, is that correct?” Zayn nods. “Yes, Natalie had mentioned that to me. That is fine, there’s no one to whom we can entrust your safety and education more; Louis has a few vested interests in keeping you put together.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Zayn laughs. “He’s a lazy dolt who doesn’t ever shut up.”

“Yet you sound a bit infatuated,” Yaser teases. “You sound like your mum when she was telling her sister that she’d met me.”

“Why, what did you say?” Zayn asks her.

Trisha is flushed pink as she seems to think back on the memory, pressing into Yaser’s side and letting him put an arm around her shoulders. “I told my sister that I’d met my soul match and that I could excuse his brash humour because he was a kind soul underneath. He told awful jokes all throughout our first meeting but he got it right the second time. By the third day we courted, we were engaged and wed a month later.”

Zayn knows his parents married after a short amount of time, but he never realised just how soon they were sure of each other. Growing nervous again, he turns to Yaser. “Will I be able to wait before we get married? Or does it have to be quick?”

“It can be whenever you’re ready. Sometimes people don’t marry their soulmates for years. Some meet their soulmates when they’re children, some don’t meet each other until they’re well into old age. There is no exact time frame.”

“I just,” he starts and then hesitates. “I don’t know how to be someone’s husband right now. I’m trying to be a nation’s prince.”

“You will do well at both,” his mum assures. “You have never disappointed us before.”

He rolls his eyes, knows that’s not entirely true but appreciates the sentiment nonetheless.

“We’ll have dinner with him the day after the games,” his father decides.

Zayn groans but doesn’t protest further, just lets his mum hug and kiss him again with a smile on his face. He tears himself away from her after a moment, slipping out of the room and tracing his way through the still unfamiliar halls of the castle. His mum and dad have the largest rooms, a royal suite with side-chambers for maids and valets. The four children have rooms on the next floor up, one designated for their own small contingent of servants. He finds Safaa and Waliyha after a few moments of near-aimless wandering, coming across them practicing their magic in one of their recreational rooms.

Waliyha’s improved so much since coming to the castle, but Safaa’s magic is sparking out in bright hues of amber and orange, much stronger than Zayn’s magic. Normally, his powers aren’t visible at all, clear and pale wisps almost like smoke, but even when they grow more yellow, they’re nothing like what his baby sister is doing.

Waliyha sees him first, smiling wide and beckoning him in. Safaa, however, is a little brat of the highest proportions, and she turns her back on him and waves her hand in a circle, freezing him where he stands. He curses her under his breath as he feels himself spinning in a circle until he’s faced away and walking out the door again.

“Safaa, stop,” Waliyha says. “Mum told you not to use it on people.”

“Zayn isn’t people,” she mutters before putting her hands down and giving him control back of his limbs.

“That was terrifying and impressive,” he says after a moment, shaking his legs to rid himself of the tingling feeling the magic had left in his blood.

He can see her hold her head up a little higher at that, nose turned up as well. Wanting to get back at her- no royal title will ever rid himself of the compulsion to show off to his sisters- he blurts out his news. “I met my soulmate.”

It gets the desired reaction. She squeaks loudly, instantly a little girl again with a mix of excitement and jealousy, and even Waliyha is struck silent. “You did?” Safaa asks, expression full of wonder. “Who is it? What are they like? Is it someone we know? Where did you meet? How did you _know_?”

Zayn holds up his hand to ebb the flow of questions, laughing and taking a seat in one of the stuffed armchairs and pulling her down into his lap. Waliyha takes another chair next to them and Doniya wanders into the room as well.

“What’s going on?” she asks, clearly having heard Safaa’s excited squeal.

“Zayn made his soul bond.”

“We haven’t _bonded_ yet,” he corrects. “We’ve just met.”

“Do you like him?” Doniya asks, settling onto the arm of Waliyha’s chair.

“How do you know it’s a ‘him’?” he asks with a grin.

She rolls her eyes. “Magic knows your preference.”

“Well, it is a lad. His name is Louis and he’s a sorcerer.”

“I’ve heard of him, haven’t met him yet though.”

“Is that the one who-?” Waliyha starts but Zayn nods before she can finish. He’s not entirely sure how to explain to Safaa what Louis’ done for Abelwick, doesn’t entirely want them to think of Louis as some impressive being. He wants them to get to know him first before they start to learn more of his backstory.

“The one who what?” Safaa asks, curious. “What did Louis do?”

“Caused a lot of trouble,” Zayn answers her swiftly, not even lying. Louis always causes trouble. “You’ll get along with him very well.”

“I don’t cause trouble,” she says, affronted.

Her three older siblings all look to her at once, eyebrows raised. She meekly presses her lips together and lays her head against Zayn’s shoulder.

“I only cause a little bit,” she concedes.

Though she’s a bit too heavy to have in his lap, Zayn doesn’t really mind. He’s had baby sisters for as long as he can remember, it seems- first Waliyha and then Safaa- and he hardly even notices the weight. He kicks his feet up on a table in front of them, letting her get a bit more comfortable with her own legs over the side of the chair.

“Tell us more about Louis,” Safaa demands.

Zayn smiles and indulges her, telling them about Louis’ pretty eyes and smile, about the ways he is funny and a bit insolent. He briefly tells the story of how he met Louis in the bake house and then retells it in greater detail when Doniya scoffs and says it wasn’t romantic enough. He still gets out-voted with regards to the moment’s romance undertones, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. He knows the way it felt when he met Louis’ eyes, knows he could never put into words the way his gut had _told_ him to go to the bake house. He knows that, one day, all of his sisters will understand the feeling of meeting the one person destined for them.

Until that day, he’ll just have to get used to sharing his details as accurately as possible to quench their curiosity.

 

 

Dinner with Louis and his parents goes much better than Zayn had expected. His sisters are present, an argument he had lost, but they’re so intrigued by Louis and interested in his stories that they don’t remember to tease or make Zayn uncomfortable. Safaa, for one, moves her chair so she’s right next to Louis, despite their mum’s shock and initial request that she remain on her side of the table. Trisha lets Safaa alone, though, when Louis insists it is fine. They have whispered conversations a couple times throughout the meal for a moment or two at a time, and Zayn keeps enough of an eye on them that he can see the brown fizzle of her magic escaping her fingertips in time enough to stop her setting the tablecloth on fire.

“You need to be able to control your magic, Safaa,” Yaser warns. “It’s irresponsible for one as strong as yourself to not understand your limits. You and Zayn will go to the Elders tomorrow and begin your training.”

Zayn agrees but Louis frowns, looking at Yaser for a long moment. Yaser must feel his stare because he looks up and notices Louis’ gaze.

“I disagree,” Louis says. At the king’s taken-aback expression, Louis hastens to add, “Don’t get me wrong: they are powerful and intelligent, know magic in theory better than any other beings in this world. I just don’t think the Elders are going to know how to control this level of magic: none of them have a _fraction_ of what Safaa has. I could sense her power as soon as I sat down across from her.”

Setting his silverware down, Yaser takes a sip from his goblet. “What do you recommend?” he asks once he’s swallowed. Zayn’s surprised; his father has never been one to accept questioning, even before he rose to the throne.

“A lot of the control comes from practice. The rest comes from self-discipline. I can assist Safaa a couple of days a week, but it’s something that she will develop naturally as well.”

“We cannot exactly afford to wait, however. Our position on the throne is new and not yet stable, especially with the townspeople and the outlying villages. If the king’s daughter is seen controlling people’s actions, there will be mayhem.”

“You told on me?” Safaa asks, rounding on Zayn with wide, hurt eyes.

“I didn’t say anything,” Zayn says, remaining calm. He and Doniya are aware that their parents have the ability to sense their children’s wrongdoings, but he doesn’t think Waliyha has caught on just yet and he knows for a fact that Safaa is oblivious.

“I can teach Safaa what I know,” Louis says after a moment of awkward silence.

The king takes a moment to think it over before he agrees, holding out a hand to shake. Louis takes it easily, calm as if he’s shaken the hand of many kings before.

“I get to mentor two Maliks,” Louis teases with a gleam in his eye. “Is there anything I can assist the older princesses with?”

Doniya and Waliyha both smirk at him with narrowed eyes, and Zayn’s overjoyed to see the level of comfort his family is already showing with his soulmate after just a half hour or so together. He turns his head to look at Louis and finds him already looking back, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you,” Zayn whispers quietly, holding his hand out under the table and biting down on a grin when Louis links their fingers together. The familiar shock of magic where their skin meets is duller than it had been at their first handshake but it’s still there, enough so that Zayn feels his free hand tingle from the force of it.

They resume eating, both Louis and Zayn finishing the meal single-handedly, neither interested in letting go.

 

 

For all of their chemistry and the honest enjoyment they find when they are near each other, Louis and Zayn don’t often discuss their soul bond. They’re tactile with each other, usually holding hands or with an arm slung around the other’s waist, though they’re equally comfortable with Harry, Niall and Liam. He’s only met Niall a handful of times and Liam even less but it isn’t uncommon for him to press against their sides as they laugh over something silly Louis is doing or a long-winded story Harry is telling.

Zayn isn’t sure where he and Louis stand, exactly, as they don’t seem to be doing anything with each other that they don’t do with the others. There have been a couple occasions where they’ve come close to kissing but one of them always pulls back too soon.

As they count down the days until Yaser’s formal coronation, the other lads step up and help Louis with Zayn’s training. Louis’ been devoting most of his time to Safaa, teasingly telling Zayn he’s hitching his horse to the winning buggy based on her current magic abilities being stronger than Zayn’s.

Niall’s a great source of political theory, explaining to Zayn in detail their kingdom’s closest and largest enemies. While Ketamyre is their main threat, Zayn’s honestly surprised to find out how many there are that often join forces with Ketamyre in fear of Abelwick’s magic. Liam’s ace on swordplay and form, teaching Zayn the proper way to hold himself and how to read his opponents. Harry is the surprising expert on the Peerage, drilling Zayn with questions until he can name every Count that Amir had established during his reign.

“How do you know all of this?” he asks Harry one night when Liam and Niall are kicking around a ball in the courtyard, waiting for Safaa and Louis to finish her session with the Elders. They’ve been honing her healing powers under Louis’ supervision, calling upon her whenever a hurt animal is found in the surrounding area.

“Hmm?” Harry asks, twisting a curl around his finger and staring off into space. He turns to look at Zayn, brow furrowed. “How what?”

“How do you know all of the Counts and their families? Do you know the names of their pet dragons, too?”

Harry smiles, dimple deep in his left cheek. “None of the counts have pet dragons. I don’t think anyone does anymore. There’s only wild ones.”

Zayn smiles back at him, soft and fond. “I was teasing, Haz. I know that nobody owns dragons still. It was outlawed over a century ago.”

“Oh,” Harry says, pouting slightly though his lips are still upturned at the corners.

“So?” Zayn prompts. “How do you know all of this?”

“I know a Count.” He looks at Zayn with his eyebrows raised, frowning when Zayn doesn’t react right away. “Intimately,” he tacks on after a moment when Zayn’s still not getting it.

“Oh,” Zayn says, flushing a bit. “Right.”

“Amir nobilised a lot of people.”

“Is that a word?” Zayn wonders aloud, leaning back against Harry’s side and tipping his head back so it rests on Harry’s shoulder. “Ennobled?”

“Whatever, yeah, Amir ennobled a lot of people. He wasn’t very popular towards the end of his reign. There were a lot people who were talking about deposing him in favour of your father or even Louis. He made the title for the few supporters he had left, especially the ones who were popular in their villages. Other kingdoms have nobles but Abelwick never did.”

“How did that go over? I can’t fathom it was well-received.”

“No,” Harry admits with a little sigh. “It didn’t work like he thought it would when he made some people counts. He ended up making more and more to soothe the egos and hurt feelings of those who had been passed over.”

“Great way to fix a problem: cause more problems.”

Harry shifts a bit behind him, Zayn’s head slipping to his chest as Harry leans back on his palms. “I think he was very much out of his element when he came into power. He liked magic, in the beginning, but I think he began to resent it. So he borrowed the idea of having nobles because he thought it would guarantee him a military if he ever needed.”

“A military?” Zayn asks, sitting up and turning to Harry. “To fight against magic?” At Harry’s nod, Zayn feels even more shock. “And you- you’re sleeping with one of these people?”

Harry’s laugh calms him, but only a bit. “Nick isn’t like that. Nick’s father was the one Amir ennobled, but only because he was wealthy and had influence in their village. They’ve never been anti-magic.”

Zayn scoots to the edge of the flat rock they’ve been cuddling on, his legs dangling a couple of inches above the ground. He puts his elbows on his thighs and buries his face in his palms, trying to wrap his mind around the new information. “This is just crazy. Am I ever going to stop being surprised by how corrupt my uncle was?”

He can hear the pity in Harry’s voice when he finally responds. “I know it must be difficult. No one thinks you or your father are like him though, if that makes you feel any better. Yaser is showing more and more how important the magic is, so that even people who only ever knew Amir’s derision are now coming around in support.”

“Yeah, dad’s said the same thing: that the villagers are coming around.”

“Yaser’s going to do amazing things for Abelwick and you’re going to be right by his side. And now, thanks to me, you’re not going to insult a nobleman by forgetting his name. We’re taking the world by storm.”

Zayn laughs and gives Harry a hug, pulling him to his side. “Your help has been invaluable,” he says, hoping his tone is coming across as sincere as he means it. Without the lads, he never would be making strides.

It’s then that Louis and Safaa come out, both of them beaming as they hurry down the steps.

“She did so well,” Louis gushes as they get closer, throwing himself between Harry and Zayn and cuddling into Zayn’s side. It’s a known fact that Louis has a terrible jealous streak and Zayn smiles into his free hand as his other cups around Louis’ shoulder.

“She did?” Harry asks, smiling fondly as well. “What’d you do so well, little princess?”

“She saved a dragon!” Louis shouts out just as Safaa is opening her mouth. Her cheeks are pink and her smile wide, but she still rolls her eyes at Louis’ enthusiasm. He’s practically buzzing under Zayn’s arm, his magic bleeding out of him in barely-there wisps of light grey smoke.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Harry says, bouncing a bit on his bum.

Liam and Niall come over, both red from their sport. “What’s going on?” Niall asks.

Louis repeats himself, causing Safaa’s excited blush to turn self-conscious when Niall hugs her. Zayn rolls his eyes to see his little sister’s obvious crush, but Niall doesn’t seem to pay any mind and Liam swoops in to hug her next.

“I didn’t save him,” she finally says when Zayn’s pulled her in for a hug of his own, arms still around her. “His wing was hurt and I fixed it.”

“He would never have flown again if it wasn’t for you. A land-bound dragon isn’t going to last long out there,” Louis contradicts. “So, yes: you did save his life.”

“Plus,” Harry adds, “Dragon wings are so magical that only those with very strong powers can stand to even touch them. I can only imagine how strong yours must be to fix one.”

“Future Elder right here, for certain,” Louis says.

“Unless she becomes queen,” Zayn says with a smirk, laughing when she pulls away.

“And follow all that ceremony? No, thank you!” she says before she rushes away with a grin, shoes slapping on the stone pavers as she hurries into the castle.

Louis shifts impossibly closer to Zayn, nearly in his lap. Sharing a smug look, Niall and Liam resume their game, Harry getting up to join them.

“Hey,” Louis says when they’re a bit further away, pulling his shoulder back to look up at Zayn.

“Hey,” Zayn says back, smiling at him. “You’re very cuddly today.”

“They kept us in there so long, even after Safaa was done. I hate being in that temple.”

“Jay and Natalie are in there, though; that must be nice to see them a lot.”

Louis rolls his eyes but smiles. “Yeah, they’re great. But it’s weird working with your parents, you know? They mean well but they seem to sometimes forget that I’m grown.”

They sit in silence for a bit, Louis’ nose pressed to Zayn’s chest through his shirt. The autumn air is unseasonably warm around them, Louis’ magic still radiating from his body in waves.

“Safaa was _amazing_ ,” he murmurs after a moment. “I’ve never seen anyone like her.”

Zayn snorts. “Aren’t you the strongest warlock who ever lived?”

“It’s different magic. I could heal an animal if I needed to, but it would drain me. Safaa hardly needs to try; she’s got so much healing magic in her, she could probably fix a whole flight of dragons and barely grow tired.”

“What kind of magic do I have?” Zayn asks.

“Same as me, but much, much less,” Louis answers bluntly. “We’ve just got the generic stuff, can move things with our minds or enchant already-created things. We can’t make or destroy. Liam’s got control of the elements. He can create wind, water and fire from nothing. Bloody useful to have around in a snowstorm, he’s got the fresh water and fire to keep from freezing. Then there’s Harry and Niall; they can manipulate nature a bit, get things to grow. Makes them good nurturers and cooks, in Harry’s case.”

“Harry says you gave him your power, though,” Zayn says, confused. “How could he have a different magic than you?”

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes, sitting up before hopping down from the rock. He holds out a hand to help Zayn down and the familiar buzz when their palms slide together makes Zayn smile. “I didn’t give Hazza anything,” Louis corrects him, keeping ahold of his hand as they make their way out of the courtyard and under the portcullis, walking down the trail that leads to the village. “I have never heard of anyone _giving_ their magic away. Harry likes to exaggerate sometimes.”

“But-” Zayn tries before stopping, not sure how to phrase his question.

“How did he not have magic before I met him?” Louis says, guessing it in one. He nods as if it’s a valid and interesting question, linking their fingers and bringing up his other hand to soothe over the back of Zayn’s knuckles. “I’m not entirely sure, but I know he was still a baby. Perhaps his magic just hadn’t shown itself yet. But, all I know, is that I can in a way share my magic with those around me, but it always returns to me. I can only strengthen the magic someone already has for a short period of time; I can’t give away any of mine.”

“But you said an incantation,” Zayn says again, trying to make sense of it. “Anne said-“

“Anne said she heard a three year-old say a funny, gibberish word and then her son had magic for the first time. She doesn’t know what I said and neither do I. Because of the prophecy, though, people have always expected a lot from me. Not that I don’t often rise to the occasion,” he hastens to add with a smirk, “but a lot is attributed to me that I honestly had no hand in.”

Zayn forces a teasing sigh and bites down on a smirk. “That’s a shame; the whole ‘powerful sorcerer’ thing was kind of doing it for me. Sucks to know you’re just a regular, run-of-the-mill witch.”

Louis comes to a halt, his hand pulling at Zayn’s when he doesn’t react so quickly. “Take that back.”

“Nope,” Zayn teases, popping the ‘p’. “I don’t think I shall. You’ve just told me that what you’ve supposedly done is all a ruse; can’t blame a lad for no longer being interested.”

Louis pouts, expression only just visible in the setting light. The moon is already risen high above them, its light much dimmer than the sun’s and unable to capture the blue in Louis’ fiery eyes. Zayn wonders how much further he can push this.

He makes to turn away, saying over his shoulder with as much derision as he can muster, “Think I’m going to have a chat with Liam later. His whole ‘fire and water’ thing sounds so much cooler than yours.”

With a grunt, Louis tugs at their still-joined hands, pulling Zayn back around to face him. They’re hardly an inch apart and Zayn finds himself staring at Louis’ eyes as the magic in Louis’ soul pulses around them differently than it had been doing before. Zayn feels his own powers responding, a light silver colour surrounding them as Zayn realises his pale magic is growing stronger and mixing visibly in the air with Louis’ grey.

Louis’ free hand comes up and cups Zayn’s cheek gently, more buzzing on his skin as he licks his lips and looks down at Louis’ mouth, suddenly perfectly aware of where this is headed. He leans in at the same time Louis does, their noses brushing awkwardly for a long moment until they shift and the kiss lines up correctly, Zayn’s lips pressed to Louis’ gently.

The vibrations in his soul get strong enough that he swears he can hear them in his ears, along with the soft gasp from Louis’ mouth when his lips part and the crunching of the rocks beneath their shoes as they shift together almost imperceptibly.

Zayn pulls back before he can take advantage of Louis’ open mouth, suddenly nervous at the strong sense of desire he feels for Louis. Not wanting their bond to influence either of them into moving too quickly, he takes a couple loud steps away, regretfully letting Louis’ hand drop as he leans against the high walls surrounding Abelwick.

“That was… intense,” Louis says, the magic around them slowly dissipating.

“What was that?” Zayn asks.

Making a swooping hand motion that Zayn interprets as his way of indicating the visible magic, Louis shrugs at Zayn’s nod of confirmation. “I told you: I can share my magic a bit. That was just a little taste of it.”

“That’s what you feel all the time?” Zayn asks.

“I feel about ninety times that,” Louis corrects him, stepping forward again and taking Zayn’s hand once more. “I feel so much, all the time, and it doesn’t really go away,” he confides. “I don’t ever have moments where I’m not aware of it. It’s a little tiresome, but knowing that I can keep Abelwick- and now, you- safe is more important than wishing any of it away.”

Zayn blushes at Louis’ intense words, trying to avoid making eye contact. He feels brave enough to lean in and press a quick, careful kiss to Louis’ mouth. It isn’t enough to share any further magic, but he’s still buzzing a little, enough so that he thinks he may still have some of Louis’ in him, so he doesn’t quite mind.

They resume their walking, heading down to the village tavern, knowing that the other lads will find them when they’re done with their game. They don’t speak as they sit together and drink, but Louis’ got a pretty flush on his cheeks and their combined magic swirls in Zayn’s chest long after their pints are gone and their friends join them for another round.

 

 

Almost six months after Zayn’s arrival, winter falls on Abelwick in the form of thick snow blanketing the world and the first recession of the magic into the ground of Yaser’s reign. No one seems concerned with this fact- least of all Louis- so Zayn doesn’t let himself dwell on it either. He still has the magic he’s controlled since birth, but the familiar buzz that he’s come to associate with being near the epicentre of his powers is now missing. He feels a bit hollow inside, like his soul is keeping the space free for its return, but he pushes aside all trepidation in favor of spending more time with Louis.

With the recession, Safaa’s lessons are put on hold. During times where the natural source of magic is low, those with the strongest powers are asked to restrict their usage in order to keep their source strong. Safaa doesn’t seem to mind, using her powers sparingly; she’ll heal animals that are frostbit from the cold- and she always uses a bit to keep the baby dragon in top form- but she learns to do without her more generic powers, taking care to resist everyday magical tasks that she used to perform without thought.

Louis is not of the same mind. Though he has reduced the size of his magic displays- one night in autumn he had memorably sent up a firework show for the castle in honor of the queen’s birthday- he still does little things that he probably shouldn’t. Zayn can’t really complain, though, especially when they often are for his benefit. Louis likes enchanting things for Zayn’s amusement, like flowers so they shine even at night or cooking the apple fritters that Zayn’s always loved, baking them with a touch of magic so they are never too hot and never grow cold.

If they are outside together for any period of time, Louis will slip his bare hands under Zayn’s jacket so they press against the skin of Zayn’s forearms, warming him up with the barest hint of magic so he feels it all the way to his toes.

 

 

And then there’s the kissing.

It is as if their first kiss opened a floodgate of affection, the two of them often sneaking away from the others to find a hidden place for them to be alone. Zayn doesn’t dare take it any further- is still aware that his mum would skin him alive if they got caught, Crown Prince or not- but he likes how Louis gets soft and sweet when they’re kissing.

Even during his most spastic moments, Louis carries a line of tension in his shoulders. Niall will usually speculate that it’s because Louis is constantly on high alert for any sign of attack or unrest near the castle, but Liam always counters that he thinks it’s more to do with the pressure his mums put on him to join their ranks and become serious. Zayn tends to believe there’s nothing saying it can’t be both.

No matter the reason for the stress, it always disappears when they have the chance to be alone, Louis pressing Zayn into a wall or Zayn straddling Louis in a chair and bringing their mouths together repeatedly until they’re both worked up and breathing heavily.

It is in moments like that, like the one they’re even in now, that Zayn thanks his stars for bringing him to Louis. Never one to rejoice in death, he cannot but think that- had his uncle lived his full life- Zayn wouldn’t have met Louis for decades still.

“Shut up with your thinking,” Louis says one night when Zayn tells him how he’s feeling. “You underestimate soulmates. We would have met at the exact right time, no matter who was alive at the time.”

“I know,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes as their brief calm moment after a seriously heavy snogging session is cut short by Louis’ argumentative side. “I just think it would have been unlikely to meet you in any other way.”

“I could have been riding with Hazza one day and passed your village,” Louis offers. He props himself up on his elbow and leans over Zayn where he’s lying on his back with his right foot flat on the mattress. Zayn tugs at his own necklace while Louis continues. “Or, you could have snuck into the castle just to catch a glimpse of what it looks like outside of the sketches in your books. There are dozens of ways we would have met if your uncle had remained alive.”

“You really believe that?” Zayn asks, fiddling the two silver loops on his necklace chain, running his fingers along the edges and slipping his thumb through the rings. Louis’ hand comes down gently on top of his, effectively stilling him.

“I really believe that,” Louis promises, keeping his hand flat against Zayn’s chest for balance as he leans in and kisses Zayn again.

Though he would be happy to keep kissing Louis forever, Zayn works up the courage to admit something he’s been keeping to himself for a couple of weeks already. He works his hand between their chests, palm flat against Louis and fingers tracing the protruding lines of his collarbones. He presses gently, Louis pulling away with a reluctance that is probably partially for show.

“Hey,” Zayn says, lifting his chin when Louis leans in for another kiss so that his mouth glances along Zayn’s jaw instead. Undeterred, Louis leans more of his weight against the hand Zayn is still using to separate them, trying to get another kiss. Zayn laughs, reprimanding him. “Lou, stop for a second.”

Sighing, he listens, shifting so he’s back on his elbow, hand tangling now in Zayn’s chain. “What is the exact reason that I’m not kissing you right now?” he asks after a moment, when Zayn isn’t sure he’s going to be able to say it.

The expression on Louis’ face, however- the half-fond, half-irritated look he gives Zayn- gives him the push he needs to speak again.

“I love you.”

If he had expected a happy reaction, he would be feeling disappointed.

As it is, Louis _has_ no reaction at first. Nothing that Zayn can see, at least. He squirms a bit under Louis’ unwavering gaze, knowing he’s heard him but feeling the urge to double-check still. How could Louis have _no_ reaction at all? He bites his lip to keep the words from spilling out again.

“What?” he finally breathes, air _whooshing_ from his lungs in a wave. “I mean- Why? How long have you known?”

Zayn flushes, thankful his dad passed down enough of his dark skin genes to hide the heat in his shoulders. He feels like he’s known since the first minutes, has been drawn to Louis in again and again over the last half-year. “Couple of weeks, maybe a month,” he lies.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you think you love me?” Louis asks, voice small. “Is it just because of our magic?”

Zayn’s first instinct is to snap out a sarcastic reply, but a glance at Louis’ face shows the true concern on his face. “Louis,” he breathes out, scooting impossibly closer and bringing his hand up to cup Louis’ cheek. His stubble is long enough to be considered a bit of a beard and Zayn rakes his fingernails through it, watching the way Louis’ eyes close as he presses a kiss to Zayn’s palm.

Words have never been Zayn’s strong suit. He always has questions or things to say but he has trouble vocalizing them in ways that don’t cause offense. He reminds himself that Louis is his _soulmate_ \- the one person who will understand him the most- and he gives himself another push.

“I don’t _think_ I love you, I know I do. You are so much more than you realise and you don’t give yourself hardly enough credit. I would have fallen in love with you regardless of our connection- I’d pick you again and again.”

“Stop,” Louis mutters, cheeks warm under his beard and mouth in a thin line.

“You stop,” Zayn counters, smiling when Louis’ eyes dart up and hold his gaze before he looks back at the hand still tangling in Zayn’s necklace. “I know you love me, too.”

Confidence is easy enough to fake, though the way Louis’ breath hitches doesn’t seem to be a denial: if anything, it sounds like his deepest secret has been found out. Zayn lifts his head from the pillow, abs tight as he presses his mouth to Louis’ for the length of time it takes to convince him to kiss back, just a push back against Zayn’s lips in acknowledgment.

Zayn lets his head fall back, unwilling to admit the burn his muscles had started to feel from the wait. Louis must know, though, because he slips his hand down from Zayn’s jewelry, his fingers tucking under the hem of his shirt and pressing along the definition he finds there.

“And to think,” he starts with a smirk, “you came to Abelwick soft and unsure of yourself. Now you’re a proper warrior.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, knocking Louis’ hand away and shifting so he’s on his side as well, facing him. “I was never soft.”

“You weren’t like this,” Louis argues, teasing his hand along the hemline again.

“You’re not distracting me from this conversation,” Zayn warns, though if Louis’ hand slips even a fraction lower, that might not remain entirely true.

“Of course I fucking love you,” Louis bites out, the blush staining his cheeks dark enough to be seen through the wiry hairs along his jaw. “Don’t go on about it.”

The appearance of this particular personality- prickly Louis who doesn’t like having heart-to-hearts unless they are on his terms- makes Zayn laugh, knowing the best way to fix any tension between them is a well-timed giggle, even if it is for no apparent reason.

“What’s funny?” Louis pouts, though his eyes are sparkling and the corners of his mouth aren’t as rigidly straight as they were on before.

“I was so nervous to say it that I’ve been practically choking on the words before I work up the nerves,” Zayn starts, still giggling a little. “And your first time saying it to me is sassy and insolent.”

“I’m sorry, I’m the worst,” Louis groans, burying his face into Zayn’s neck and letting half his body weight rest on Zayn’s chest. Louis isn’t big in any definition, but he’s a solid lump of concrete muscles and Zayn’s hardly bigger than him anyway.

He deals with the discomfort silently, running his hand through Louis’ hair and letting him make the next move. He’s concentrating on keeping his breaths shallow- can’t take any deep ones because of the way Louis is sprawled over him- when he feels a tingle much like the one when they had first kissed.

Louis must notice it, too, lifting his head and looking at Zayn’s chest where the buzz is concentrated. “Oh, gosh, _sorry_ ,” he says, scooting himself off of Zayn.

“What is happening?” Zayn asks as he finally takes deep breaths.

“My magic though you were dying.”

Entirely sure that he has misheard, Zayn shakes his head a bit. “Come again?”

“I didn’t realise how heavily I was laying on you; our soul bond must have sensed you were altering your breathing. I told you, I can share magic with those who need it. Our bond just makes it more automatic.” Louis shrugs, flopping onto his back. His right hand finds Zayn’s left one, curling their fingers together out of habit.

Zayn whistles once, long and low, scratching at his chest under his shirt. The magic is already fading and he breathes deep, trying to chase that addicting buzz. He doesn’t realise Louis has fallen asleep until he looks over and sees his eyes closed, mouth puckered in a tiny pout and a wrinkle of worry in his forehead. Zayn lifts his right hand from his chest, pressing his thumb to the line to soothe it away, but it persists.

Worried, Zayn wants to wake him. It’s unlike Louis to look agitated in his sleep, but then the wrinkle fades just as his opening his mouth to speak. Louis shifts a bit closer, most likely seeking out Zayn’s body heat, and he unlinks their fingers to wrap his arm around Louis’ shoulders and pull him tight to his side.

It is worth the sleeping limb he’ll have in the morning.

 

 

After his little love declaration, Zayn notices Louis pulling away.

It starts in small ways: kisses that no longer turn heated, time that Louis used to spend with him now always taken up by someone else. Zayn tries to convince himself he’s imagining things, but when three days pass in which he doesn’t see Louis even once, Zayn knows there’s something happening.

Louis is, as usual, completely unhelpful to ask. When Zayn finally corners him- in-between a game of sport with Liam and a visit he has planned with his mums, both of which are steadily becoming more frequent outings- Louis denies that there is anything going on. Vehemently, he tries to reassure Zayn that everything is fine. Zayn wants to believe him, wants to trust that his _soulmate_ wouldn’t be lying to him like this, but Louis leaves and forgets to kiss him goodbye and Zayn-

Zayn just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

Reasoning that the next best thing to talking to Louis is talking to Harry, Zayn tracks the curly lad down a few days later. Harry’s count is in Abelwick, the nobles all gathered for the annual winter festival beginning the next day, so Zayn prepares himself to find the two in a compromising position or even a domestic scene in Harry’s house.

Instead, they’re both in a meeting with Yaser and Louis. When asked, one of the servants informs Zayn of Harry’s whereabouts and he finds the four of them exactly where she said they’d be: in one of the council rooms off of the great hall. It’s the same room he visited his first day in Abelwick, but when he pops his head around the doorframe and interrupts their discussion, he can see that the maps have been pulled down from the walls and are laid out along the tabletop.

Their conversation comes to a halt when Zayn appears, which is telling enough, so he comes fully into the room, keeping his hands by his sides and standing his full height, chin up.

“Is somebody going to explain to me what is happening?”

“Noth-” Louis starts but Zayn lifts his hand, palm out.

“No. It is not ‘nothing’ and I am not a child. I am the Crown Prince of Abelwick and- if there is something going on in this kingdom- I have a right to know.”

Yaser and Louis make eye contact, the two of them having a silent debate that consists mainly of raised eyebrows and minute shakes of Louis’ head. Harry walks over to him while they’re communicating this way, linking his arm with Zayn’s and pulling him further into the room.

“Don’t be mad,” Harry says, voice low as they approach the table.

Louis’ head turns sharp, eyes widening as if he hadn’t realised Zayn was already so close. He’s looking down at the table, now, so he doesn’t pay Louis much mind.

Spread out along the deep ebony are all maps of Abelwick and the surrounding areas. Enchanted on the maps are small pinpoints of multicoloured lights throughout the city and dark shadows along the edges of the kingdom. The dark points are moving slowly, coming in closer to the lightest points that are in the castle itself. Zayn reaches out a hand and traces over what appears to be the room they are standing in. There are three distinct lights on the map, one gold and the other two blue in addition to several dimmer colours in the area.

“Are these… us?” he asks, looking up. Louis is refusing to meet his eyes, staring instead down at Zayn’s hand. When he looks to his father, however, he sees him nod. Trailing his finger to the dark spots, he asks, though he thinks he already knows the answer, “So, these are decidedly _not_ us, then?”

Again, his father nods. Looking back down, Zayn tries to calculate the distance.

“The armies of Ketamyre and Bythuria have declared their intent to join forces and depose me,” Yaser says, voice grave. “They have assembled the largest army the world has ever seen and are marching on us now.”

“Why was I not told?” Zayn asks, bewildered. He looks into his father’s eyes, desperate to know if the secret was kept from him because he has in any way let his father down. He couldn’t bear to think that he’s disappointed Yaser, has tried his very hardest to be worthy of the responsibility the magic has bestowed upon them all.

Yaser breaks their eye contact, looking away and towards Louis. Zayn follows his gaze, tightening the hold he still has on Harry’s arm when he sees the absolutely thunderous expression on Louis’ face.

When Louis doesn’t speak, though Zayn is silently begging with every atom in his body, his fear manifests into anger and he wrenches himself away from Harry.

“If no one is going to tell me then I will just ask Jasmine what she knows,” he decides, walking towards the door. A grey spark passes him, and the door slams in his face before he can get there. he spins on his heel to face them again. “Don’t shut me in here without telling me anything!” he shouts at Louis.

He has never seen such a strong expression of agitation on Louis’ face as he does now, and part of him wants to drop his anger but he resists. They are keeping something from him and he needs to know what it is.

Louis seems to realise Zayn isn’t going to drop it, and he comes around the table, walking towards him. He’s close enough that he could practically whisper the news to him, but he takes his hands instead, lifting them and linking their fingers so their palms are pressed together. “I’m not going to survive this battle,” he says.

Zayn laughs.

It’s unnaturally high laughter, bordering on hysterical, but he opens his mouth to tell Louis that he’s wrong- clearly, Louis is wrong- but all that comes out are otherworldly giggles that he can’t control. His entire body is shaking with the strength of his laughter. He should be scaring everyone at this point but Louis doesn’t pull away. Their palms remain pressed together between them, Zayn’s fingers suddenly desperately gripping the hands he holds.

It seems as though Louis is saying something, face showing nothing but concern. It’s the expression that finally quiets Zayn; the absurdity that Louis is concerned for others when he’s saying that _his_ life is going to be lost must snap some sense into Zayn because he switches near-instantly to overwhelming fear and agony.

His body gets tight, like his lungs can’t take in air and his brain can’t process anything further. It feels as though the very blood in his veins has stopped flowing and is sitting heavy in his veins. He vaguely recognises that he’s crying, can feel the damp on his cheeks. Louis tries to take away one of his hands- possibly to wipe away the tears- but Zayn panics and tries to grab for it, dark purple sparks like he’s never before seen shooting from his hand when he misses.

“It’s okay, shh,” Louis’ voice somehow gets through the fog in Zayn’s mind. He doesn’t give his hand back but he does wrap an arm around Zayn and pull him close into his chest, continuing to shush him.

He first feels Louis’ free hand press against the back of his neck and then the sensation of magic rippling against the skin there. He’s lifting his head to ask Louis what he’s doing when his vision swims a bit and he slumps further into Louis’ chest.

The last thing he is aware of is a press of lips to his temple before he slips into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

The room is dark when he wakes up, the curtains drawn to keep out any light. Louis’ in a chair beside the bed, knees pulled tight to his chest. He looks smaller than usual and scared, eyes wide across the distance.

“I am so mad at you,” Zayn murmurs, shifting in the bed until his back is against the headrest. He’s utterly exhausted, feels like he hadn’t slept a wink. He holds out his arms and Louis comes to him immediately, pressing their closed mouths together for an all-too-brief kiss.

“I love you,” Louis says when he pulls back. “I love you and I’m so sorry that I have to leave you.”

The calming magic must still be present in Zayn’s system because he manages to keep control of his senses at those words, though his grip on Louis tightens.

“We are not going to use those words again,” he cautions, “but tell me why you think this.” He settles further in bed, tugging Louis until he’s pressed into his side, a solid, comforting mass of lad. Zayn keeps his right arm around Louis’ shoulders and brings his left in front of his own stomach, resting lightly on Louis’ thigh. He needs to be touching him as much as possible, needs to reassure himself that Louis is still here.

Louis sighs a bit, fidgeting until he’s comfortable as well. “I had a vision a few weeks ago of a Bythurian woman in Abelwick. She was talking to the sheriff and his household, and they told her that our magic was underground. Then I saw her going to her queen and relaying the information. The queen met with her advisors. I couldn’t hear everything, but I knew it was suspicious.”

“That’s when you started pulling away from me,” Zayn says, pinching almost gently at Louis’ thigh through his breeches. Louis doesn’t answer the charge, nuzzling against Zayn’s shoulder instead before continuing.

“I told Yaser about what I had seen and then I started spending more time with the Elders: Jasmine and Steven in particular. Steven has a strong power of foresight, as well, and Jasmine’s the only meta’tem of which we know. They’ve been helping me practice and strengthen my visions and I’ve been having more, pretty frequently. Sometimes, I have three a day.”

“What are they? I want to know everything, don’t keep anything from me.”

Shaking his head, Louis is adamant when he says, “I won’t, I promise. They’re mostly small glimpses, but I saw when Ketamyre’s king would cross over into Bythuria, making his way towards the castle. I saw that some of their men would start training together. I knew the exact day they would cross into Abelwick.”

“So, everything you’ve seen has happened?” Zayn asks, not sure what answer he wants to hear.

The nod he gets as a response is heartbreaking. “As far as we can tell, everything is happening as I saw. My visions are sometimes out of order, but I can usually tell which ones happen when.”

“What happens- when you- Just. Why do you think you aren’t going to make it?”

“I see me fall on the battlefield. I don’t see me fighting, but I see the army advancing. I see violet coming from my hands. I see the Elders in a semi-circle around a grave.”

Zayn stays quiet, unsure of what to say. He wants to cry again but he doesn’t know if he has anything left. He feels hollow.

“Yaser didn’t want to keep anything from you but I- I didn’t want to upset you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so upset before,” Zayn acknowledges. “To be fair, I was highly stressed anyway since I knew you were hiding something from me and then I thought my dad didn’t trust me and… I just wasn’t in a calm state of mind, anyway.” He lets his head fall back, staring at the dark stone ceiling above. “Did I shoot purple sparks?” he asks, a vague memory coming back to him.

“It’s-“ Louis starts, hesitating.

“No need to keep from me something that I already did,” Zayn reasons.

“It’s what people send off when they’re dying, when they’re in complete agony,” Louis says, speaking fast. “It’s strong magic, stronger than even mine but only lasts seconds. Your magic will most likely be drained until it all comes above ground. There’s a chance you may never get it back.”

Zayn rubs at his stomach idly before he presses his hand to Louis’ leg again. “I think I feel that it’s gone,” he confesses. “I don’t know if it will come back but I feel different.”

“I thought you were dying but I knew I’ve seen you in visions, so I put you to sleep as soon as I could so you would rest. I can’t have anything happen to you.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“I don’t have many visions of you in the future, but I’ve seen enough to know you’re happy?” Louis offers, his voice lilting at the end as if he’s asking a question.

“Won’t be happy if you’re not there,” Zayn says. “Won’t be the same.”

Louis bites his lip and looks up at him, shifting away a bit so he can see clearly. Zayn knows, now, what Louis looks like when he’s hiding something.

“What is it?”

“I’ve seen you: you’re happy.”

Zayn’s shaking his head almost before Louis is done speaking. “I won’t be,” he insists.

“You have children, you’re surrounded by your family, you become king,” Louis lists off, shrugging out from under Zayn’s arm completely and listing what he’s seen on his fingers.

“I don’t care what you think you’ve seen,” Zayn snaps, grabbing Louis’ hips and pulling him back, Louis’ knees digging into his sides until he can’t get any closer. “I am telling you that I won’t be able to get over you. Not ever.”

When he hears that, Louis ducks his head, breathing hard. He takes a long moment before he looks up again, blue eyes near grey from the tears in his eyes. “I need you to be happy,” he says, sniffling just a bit. “I know it sounds bloody stupid and I know it doesn’t really change anything, but I need to know that you’re going to be happy and okay. I don’t want to think I’m responsible for you being unhappy.”

Another sniffle and Louis brings his arm to his nose, wiping it on his sleeve. It should be disgusting- it is, a bit- but it just makes Zayn chuckle lightly and tug at him again. Louis goes with the pull, shifting so he’s straddling Zayn’s legs, hovering over his lap.

“I love you,” Louis says, pushing his sleeves up and linking his hands around Zayn’s neck. “I love you so much, more than I knew was possible. I never knew you were real- never had a single hint of a vision of me with a soulmate. You’ve taken me by surprise since the moment we met.”

“Gosh, we sound like a bunch of hormonal teenagers,” Zayn laughs, responding when Louis leans in for a soft kiss.

“A couple of right saps,” Louis agrees when he pulls back.

“Gonna make me sick.”

“Speak for yourself: I’m already sick of us,” Louis insists with a sad laugh.

Bringing their mouths together again and parting his lips, Zayn breathes out his next words into the kiss. “Gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

The sound Louis lets out is closer to a sob than a laugh but he stays close, tongue sweeping against Zayn’s. He brings his hands up to cup Zayn’s jaw, fingers stroking at the skin there and tilting his face up so he can lick inside deeper. Zayn allows him to control the pace, lets Louis taste as much of his mouth as he can.

Too soon, Louis pulls back, breathing hard through his nose.

“Promise-“ Zayn starts but Louis quickly covers his mouth.

“Don’t, Zee,” he warns. “I can’t make that promise.” He takes his hand away, eyes wet.

Zayn doesn’t care.

“Promise you won’t die,” he says in a rush, barely moving his mouth to form the words.

Louis’ magic sparks at that, grey and cold still on his skin when he cups Zayn’s cheek. “I can’t make that promise.”

“Please.”

“I don’t ever want to lie to you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Zayn begs. “I need to hear you say those words. Tell me you’re not leaving me.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Louis whispers, closing his eyes. Zayn nods, though he can’t see, and drags Louis back into his chest so he can feel the way it’s still rising and his heart is still beating.

“Thank you for lying to me,” he whispers back after several long moments. Louis doesn’t acknowledge him save for a bit of a tighter squeeze where his arms are locked around Zayn’s back.

 

 

After Zayn finds out the secret that his father and Louis have been keeping, he throws himself into his studies even more than he had before. Liam trains with him for hours at a time, a fierce and determined set to his face as he corrects every swipe of Zayn’s sword.

Strategy meetings are held three times a day, usually under a half hour long. Yaser, Zayn, Louis and the Elders all gather in what Zayn is now dubbing the Map Room, studying the dark dots that represent the advancing armies. From the Elders’ calculations, they have less than four days until the armies reach Abelwick.

All of the villagers in the outlying areas have been safely evacuated, put up in houses within the borders of Abelwick. From what Louis sees in his visions- which are rapidly increasing in frequency- their homes are all going to be ransacked and made inhabitable as the enemy military passes through, and they’re fortunate that they managed to get everyone in time.

With three days to go, they move all of the women and children within the castle walls. Rooms are overcrowded but the citizens will be safe, and Doniya, Waliyha and Zayn’s mother spend most of the next few days visiting with each family and insuring that they are as comfortable as possible.

Safaa and the other healers are set up in the manor home that had previously belonged to the village sheriff- his having been arrested once his treachery had been revealed left his home available for their use. They arrange the home in the layout of a hospital, stocked with supplies to treat any injuries that can be healed without using their scarce magic.

The previous sheriff’s wife and children are in the castle, though his oldest had joined the military long before his father’s deception had been an issue. Zayn doesn’t trust him much but Louis has had visions of Luther fighting honestly for them, so he tries to hide his reservations.

Zayn spends every night with Louis, though he wakes often to write down his visions as they come to him. Any that are more urgent than the others are taken to Yaser immediately, but most are brief and can wait until the morning. Zayn wakes with him every time, waiting patiently until Louis crawls back into next to him.

“Tell me about the future,” Zayn asks him that night, their only time alone that day as they prepared for the outbreak of war.

Louis seems to think for a moment, scrolling through the visions he’d had that day.

“I saw another of you and your children,” he offers after a moment.

It takes every ounce of willpower for Zayn to not say that they’ll be Louis’ children, too, but he knows that Louis believes his vision and he doesn’t want to pick any fights if they really are living through their last days. Instead, he stays quiet and curled into Louis’ side, listening as Louis tells him about the two daughters he’ll have one day, one that’ll be taller than even Zayn and look exactly like Waliyha and the other who’ll take on more of Trisha’s features, and apparently be remarkably powerful, if Louis’ vision of possessing a brood of dragons is to be believed.

Zayn wants to call foul- no way would Safaa let her niece domesticate a wild animal, but he’s asleep before he can even open his mouth.

 

 

The day before the invasion, Zayn’s magic starts to come back to him. It begins with a pins and needles sensation in his arms and progresses throughout the day to a full-body awareness of his powers’ return.

With time running out to prepare, Louis stays in the Elders’ Temple the whole day meeting with the leaders of the army and finalising strategies. Their meetings with Yaser take place in the temple itself, and Zayn leaves the first two quickly and without fight, spending time with Niall and Harry. They practice with swords and magic, Harry noting the faint shine of silver to his sparks that hadn’t been there before.

“Just a trick of the light,” Zayn says, unconcerned. His magic feels familiar to him so he doesn’t pay that any mind.

After the third and final meeting with Yaser and Louis, Zayn unapologetically steals him away. They tuck into a hidden corner, exchanging a few sweet kisses.

“Does it feel like before?” Louis asks, linking their fingers between them.

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t notice a difference, but Harry says it looks a different colour.”

At that, a strange look crosses Louis’ face for a brief moment but it’s gone before long and Zayn assumes it was just a trick of the shadows keeping them discreetly shielded.

“I love you,” Louis says, hands reverently running over Zayn’s cheeks and down the lines of his neck.

“I love you,” Zayn answers, closing his eyes and tilting into the touch. Since he’d lost his magic, the spark that he’d felt when Louis touched him was also gone. He’s a little disappointed it isn’t back now, assumes it has been lost for good, but it doesn’t change the way Louis’ touch will always make him feel loved and appreciated.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Louis promises. “If you need me, you know where I am.”

Zayn nods, hating that he has to leave him behind. He’s starting to give Louis’ visions more weight though he tries to put on a brave face, and every moment where he isn’t with his soulmate is starting to feel draining.

As he waits for Louis to join him in bed that night, he tries to test his magic. It’s weaker than it had been that morning when they had woken up together, though it is still present. He shakes his hands a few times, tries lighting the torches lining the wall across the room. Sparks fly from his hands but they don’t seem to accomplish anything. It’s frustrating, but he continues trying for a few moments to no avail. He’s starting to think Harry’s right, the sparks are looking a bit different than they had before, but then the torches light unexpectedly and he gets distracted.

Satisfied, he settles further into bed, pulling the duvet over his shoulders to block out the chill lingering in the air. The deepest of winter is always rough in Abelwick and the outlying villages, and there hasn’t been a thaw for weeks. It will be hard for the military to withstand the cold for very long, but Ketamyre and Bythuria are both desert nations so they’ll be at a disadvantage there.

Louis comes in a moment later, worried face smoothing over when he sees Zayn. “Hi, love,” he says, undressing quickly in the corner. He slips into one of Zayn’s long shirts like usual before climbing onto the bed next to him and settling along his side but above the covers.

“You’re not cold?” Zayn asks. “I’m freezing.”

Louis just smiles and shakes his head, looking at him intensely. It used to make Zayn uncomfortable but it’s something he has gotten used to since they’ve met. He always looks away before Zayn gets too self-conscious, and tonight is no different. Zayn scoots closer when Louis settles on his back, looking up at the ceiling. The blanket gets in the way but he still feels himself grow calm once they’re sharing body heat.

“I’m scared,” Louis admits. “I’m so fucking scared of dying and leaving Abelwick unprotected.”

Zayn bites his lip, pushing aside the panic that threatens to consume him at Louis’ words and stays quiet, letting him speak again.

“I love you, always. I need you to know that. It’s just like you said: I’d love you even without our bond. I’d love you in any alternate reality.”

“I know,” Zayn insists. He presses a kiss to Louis’ shoulder, bare where the too big top has slipped down, and drags a hand out from under the covers, resting it against Louis’ chest. He flexes his fingertips, feeling the definition in Louis’ muscles and the beating of his heart. “I love you, too. I love everything about you.”

“Even when I’m spastic?”

Zayn smiles, pressing his lips to Louis’ skin again. “Even when you’re spastic,” he confirms. “I love you even when you’re not being very nice or when you’re spending too much time with my sisters.”

“I thought I’d need to impress them. If I had known, I would have spent every single minute with you instead.”

“Shut up,” Zayn reprimands, tossing the covers off and swinging a leg over Louis’ hips. He braces his hands on the pillow on which Louis’ head is resting, looking him in the eyes. “Listen to me: you are not dying.”

“But-“

“No,” Zayn cuts him off, ignoring the visible tears in Louis’ eyes and the ones he can feel in his own. “I don’t want to hear about it again. You’ve had visions that were incorrect, right? Or, you thought it meant one thing but it meant another?”

“Yes,” Louis admits. “But I know what I felt like when I had that vision. I feel so empty in it, I’ve never been like that.”

“Well, I’m not done with you,” Zayn says. “I’m not going to be done with you for a long, long time. So you need to promise me that you’re going to live through this battle. My children need you: I need you.”

Louis’ tears are hanging heavily on his bottom lashes, clumping the short hairs together. Zayn leans down and presses his lips to the tears, brushing them away before bringing their mouths together. The kiss is brief but quickly intense, Louis’ lips parting for Zayn’s tongue. It could quickly turn into something more, but they pull back in unison instead. Louis blinks up at him, his hand coming up to brush Zayn’s hair back from his face and tucking it behind his ear.

“It’s getting so long,” he notes.

“You like it?”

“Hate it,” Louis tries to joke, sniffling a bit.

“I’ll shave it all off when you’re home with me after this battle.”

“Zayn…” Louis breathes, closing his eyes again.

“You promised me,” he reminds, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears from his own eyes. “You’re going to save Abelwick and you’re going to give me the children you’ve seen. I want daughters with your sense of humour and sassy behavior.”

“No you don’t. I promise you: I was awful for my mums.”

“I don’t care,” Zayn insists.

“We should go to sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”

Zayn sighs, knowing Louis isn’t backing down. He doesn’t know how to convince him that he’s going to survive, especially when Zayn is starting to have his own doubts. He needs to be steady in his own beliefs, though, so he just kisses Louis again, just a hard press of their closed mouths, until he rolls off and tucks into Louis’ side. He doesn’t get under the covers, needs as few layers between them as possible. He threads one of his bare legs between Louis’, his skin warm everywhere they touch.

He doesn’t think he’ll find sleep, is too wired, but Louis presses two fingers to Zayn’s temple and mutters something soft. Before Zayn can even open his mouth to yell at or stop him, he’s slipping into a deep sleep.

 

 

Louis is gone when Zayn wakes up, and he’s cursing him under his breath as he pulls on clothes when Harry comes to his door.

“Have you seen him?” Zayn asks him once he steps back to let him in, pulling his breeches on quickly and lacing them efficiently. His magic seems depleted once again, as some simple spells he had attempted to cast so far this morning had all fallen flat. It adds nothing to help his mood.

“He didn’t want to say goodbye to you,” Harry admits, pity on his face. “Didn’t think he could handle it.”

“I just might kill him myself when this is over,” Zayn bitches. “Where is he?”

“Honestly, mate, I don’t know. He told me to come and wake you with the sun. His visions show the armies within range near midday, and most of the men are readying now.”

“Have we sent people to search for him?”

“I don’t think he’s going to let himself be found.”

“I don’t care,” Zayn snaps, fixing his shirt and grabbing his sword and scabbard from its hook near the door. “I’m finding him right now, he’s _not_ dying without saying goodbye to me.”

Harry steps back and lets Zayn pass, following him as he races through the crowded hallways. He takes the stairs two at a time to get to the great hall, finding his father quickly.

“Zayn, he’s safe,” Yaser says, bringing his hand up to Zayn’s shoulder.

“You’ve seen him?” he asks, surprised. He hadn’t expected anyone to have any further information.

“I sent him away.”

“You did _what_?”

“Abelwick will survive without him today. I don’t think you will.”

Zayn feels tears build in his eyes, knowing the decision his father made was full of risk. If Louis fought, his prophecy said he would die; if he didn’t fight, Abelwick’s chances of winning were significantly lower. He pulls himself to his full height before he loses his composure further. “Are you sure you’ve considered the risk?” he asks.

“Louis’ visions show Abelwick winning, but he has admitted to us that he hasn’t seen himself actively fighting.”

“He sees himself on the battlefield,” Zayn argues. “That’s where he falls.”

“But he doesn’t know how or why he falls. There are no men around him and no arrows to indicate an archer reached him. If he isn’t on the battlefield, then he won’t fall.”

There is no real reason for Zayn to be arguing with his father, but something about the situation isn’t settling in his stomach very well. Louis was going to fight with them, he was preparing for it. It didn’t seem likely that he’d back down so easily.

Instead of continuing the argument, Zayn just thanks his father and then makes his way out into the inner courtyard. Harry is still behind him, and when Zayn stops abruptly, he bumps into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, distracted. He looks around, feels a whisper of wind against the nape of his neck. “Do you sense that?” he asks Harry.

For his part, Harry seems to focus his concentration, bowing his head and closing his eyes. He shakes his head after a moment. “What am I meant to be sensing?” he asks.

“I’m not sure,” Zayn admits, looking around. Besides the people hurrying around on the cobblestones, making sure last minute preparations for the fight are in order, he sees nothing unusual about the courtyard. He brings his hand to the back of his neck as if he’s looking for whatever had brushed past him. His hair is gathered into a knot on his head, not unlike the one into which Harry has forced his own curly locks, and he makes sure no strands of hair have come out. It would explain the whispered brush against the nape of his neck, but he feels nothing.

They find Liam easily, stood in his army uniform and awaiting orders from the general. They stand with him, listening to the captain of his specific troop bark out orders. Zayn knows from his meetings with Yaser, Louis and the Elders that those with the most magic are to stay on the battlements with the protection of the archers. An army of this scale has never threatened their castle before and with Abelwick’s magic underground, there was no guarantee that the invaders would be kept back even with Louis’ help. They have known since the first vision that this would be a bloody war, and Zayn just hopes that he can perform at his very best and protect as many of his people as he can.

He doesn’t know how he’s meant to do this without Louis.

Before he’s truly prepared- not that he thinks he ever will be- the general of the entire army is mounting his destrier. He and Yaser lead the troops out under the portcullis and through the village, eerily still save for the army marching through it. Zayn is on horseback and brings up the rear with the sheriff’s son, Luther. A cart of weapons drawn by four stocky draught horses follows them, as well as a contingent of lighter rouncies to whisk away injured fighters if possible.

“Your Highness-” Luther begins, no doubt to apologise once again for his father’s betrayal.

“Just help us save our home and we’ll never speak of it again,” Zayn cuts him off, clucking for his own warmblood to push forward, riding alongside the men.

They reach the outer edge of the village and come to a halt less than thirty paces from the border of Abelwick. The men spread out into a practiced formation, with Zayn and Luther joining the king and the other riders. They look about for the invading army, knowing they will have a bit of advanced notice as they make their way up the only road leading to their city.

The ground begins to tremble below their feet as if they are experiencing an earthquake. Zayn steadies his steed, running a hand through his mane as he breathes out a few quiet whispers intending to calm the agitated horse. It works almost too quickly, Zayn unaware if he’d sent off magic without meaning to. Either way, his mount stands as if rooted while the army comes into view in the valley.

Even with all of Louis’ warnings and drawings, the sheer size of the force they’re facing terrifies him. He has never seen so many people in one place before in his life, the seemingly endless supply of enemy men as they pour into the valley from all directions.

Magic is quiet in Zayn’s blood but it’s the first time he’s really felt its presence since it had gone underground and he had sent off his purple sparks. He nudges his horse and pulls alongside Yaser’s mount.

“I didn’t honestly expect this,” Zayn says under his breath. “It is extraordinary,” he adds, “that this many people are afraid of something as pure as magic.”

Yaser looks at him for a moment, calculating. “It’s because the magic hasn’t chose them. They’re afraid of what they do not know. How do you feel?”

“Powerful,” he answers honestly. “I feel like my magic is where it was when I first came to Abelwick. I always thought I had so little power but I realise now that every ounce of magic inside of me makes me that much more powerful than their strongest soldier.”

“Well said,” Yaser agrees. The advancing army is near enough that their best archers may strike if they try, but the mass of men come to a stop. Two riders advance, clearly the invading monarchs coming to set the terms with Yaser.

“Come, Zayn,” his father orders, spurring his horse forward.

Zayn is startled, knowing it was the general who was supposed to approach with his father. Neither of them have experience in war, and they’ve been leaning heavily on Yusef’s experience to guide their way.

They meet the Bythurian Queen and Ketamyrian King halfway between their troops. Though Zayn had led his family through mountain passes to reach Abelwick from the east, the armies have come through the marshlands to the west and therefore have avoided the natural protection the mountains offer the magical kingdom. Their horses are showing signs of wear already, having clearly not been given an adequate rest the night before, and Zayn files away the information.

Zayn stays silent while Yaser speaks.

“I have to say,” he begins, “I am a bit surprised you would risk marching on our kingdom after your last defeats.”

“Your tricks won’t work on us this time, Yaser,” the queen says. “We know your magic supply is dwindling. You don’t have the resources to sustain a campaign for long, as _untested_ as your men are.”

“We may be untested by your standards,” Yaser admits with a cock of his head. “Due fully to the sound defeats we have handed your nations individually in the past. It seems as though your countries have, perhaps, not seen fit to challenge us for fear of another loss.”

“We no longer fear you, false king,” the Ketamyrian King says. “We intend to place on the throne the rightful heir, your brother’s son.”

Surprised, Zayn looks to him and the king sees, lip curled.

“So the news has not traveled to the barbaric kingdom?” he notes. “Yes, Amir’s widow gave birth to a healthy boy. We are here to claim the throne for him and Endora, to reestablish them to their rightful places.”

“I will die before I see my kingdom under the likes of you,” Yaser swears, drawing his sword. He holds out his arm, pointing it before him. He isn’t close enough to be a true threat, but a brief flicker of panic lights in the king’s eyes.

“That is the plan, Yaser,” the queen says, tugging on her horse’s reins and leading the king away.

Yaser turns as well, Zayn following at a gallop. They inform the general of Amir’s child’s live birth, that the reason these kingdoms are invading is, in theory, due to the child’s existence.

“How did Louis not catch that?” Yaser curses before sending Zayn into position and returning to the troops.

From Zayn’s spot near the back, he can only hear his father with amplification magic. Yaser’s speech is brief but inspiring, reminding the men that they are fighting not only for magic and not only for their country, but also for the soulmates, spouses and children who are waiting for them inside the castle walls.

“For Abelwick!” he cries out at the end, voice booming to the very back, possibly even able to be heard in the castle.

The army all shouts the battle cry as well, the mostly masculine voices booming and making the ground shake beneath Zayn’s horse’s hooves. He lets the stallion dance off another round of agitation, Zayn quickly soothing him again.

He desperately needs Louis with him.

It almost seems to be in slow-motion when the attacking army begins to advance. They appear exponentially closer with each step, but Zayn feels as if he is moving through water with how slow his reactions are. The people of Abelwick hold their ranks until the last moment as they had practiced, surging forward with a roar and engaging in combat.

Arrows from the archers behind them are firing with magical surety, landing their blows every time. There is only so much that the archers can do, however, and the Elders are instructed to focus their magic on keeping a defensive line in place so no soldiers can enter past the makeshift hospital, so the front line is mainly on its own.

Zayn holds his sword and shield the way Liam had taught him, nudging his horse forward to fight. His nerves instantly disappear with his new purpose, and he swings his blade down with intent, blocking attack blows and slicing through flesh in a way that would normally cause him to be sick. Now, he only thinks of Abelwick and of his family, thinks of his sisters and Louis. He shouts out an unintelligible roar, the men near him picking it up until all of their army is one thunderous bass sound.

The soldiers’ red magic is sparking through the air, plenty of whites and pale yellows as well from the citizens who were strong and brave enough to fight. Zayn doesn’t use his magic yet, unsure of when or if it will fade again. He keeps his grip firm on the broadsword pommel, using the new strength in his biceps to thrust and cut. His dagger is a heavy weight on his hip and he is considering using it- may have more use for it than a shield- when one of the Bythurian soldiers singles him out.

Accepting the challenge, Zayn dismounts from his horse so he’ll have a better range of motion. His stallion is quickly grabbed by another, and he and his opponent circle each other once before Zayn sees a weakness in his stance and strikes once, sharp. His blade makes a dull sound when it strikes against the man’s chain mail and he goes down quickly, hand pressing to the wound in his side and legs folded at an angle beneath him, clearly injured before Zayn had faced off with him and even worse now.

Zayn quickly reaches for his dagger, striking the man in the space where his inefficient mail coif doesn’t reach the collar of his breastplate. He grimaces in distaste but comforts himself with the knowledge that it would’ve been crueler to leave the man to bleed out on his own. He wipes off the blade of his dagger before returning it to its loop on his belt.

He turns on his heel when he hears someone approaching, blade up in time to catch a slash from a Ketamyrian soldier. He uses his shield to block another swing, stabbing forward to a weak spot in the woman’s armor. They parry back-and-forth for a few moments, until Zayn gets his shield high above his head with his left arm and swings his right up from his waist, gritting his teeth through the pain of the motion as his upswing finds its mark.

Beginning to notice all of the flaws in the enemy’s armor, Zayn fights his way through a few more soldiers, resorting to using his spontaneously-returned magic until he can break out of the thickest array of soldiers. He sees his father’s standard billowing in the wind above them, hears the resounding cries of ‘For Abelwick’ from their army.

He finds Luther quickly, the other man having also left behind his mount. “Their armor isn’t meant for them,” Luther says as soon as they’re close enough to shout. “They’re using mail that’s ragged and worn thin.”

“I know,” Zayn says, breathing heavily. Around him, the men and women on both sides are growing tired, many taking breaks from their individual fights. “We can’t hold this for much longer,” Zayn notes. “They’ve got fresh soldiers just waiting in the wings. Our fresh men aren’t that many.”

“We need Louis,” Luther says. “We need his magic.”

“I know.”

“We’re not going to try to get him, though, are we?” Luther asks.

“We’re definitely not,” Zayn confirms. “Louis has seen the outcome of this battle- Abelwick defeats the enemy.”

“How many men are we going to sacrifice in order to do so?”

“A lot less than we would sacrifice if Louis dies on the field today,” Zayn snaps. “If we lose him, we lose our strongest hope for the future of this kingdom.”

Luther bows his head at Zayn’s words, shifting his shield on his arm and adjusting his grip on his sword. “I will follow your lead, Your Highness.”

Zayn picks up his shield as well, turning with Luther to survey the scene before them. Harry is approaching them, his visor having somehow disappeared.

“I’ve something to show you,” Harry says, motioning for Zayn to follow.

“Alright, Haz,” Zayn says, watching as the men around them slowly begin to fight again. Breaks are a necessary evil of war, as the soldiers can really only handle the weight of their armor for brief periods of time without resting.

“I was right,” Harry says out of the blue as the three of them make their way back into the mess of soldiers, sidestepping the fallen and focusing instead on the small pockets of fighting. Luther is quickly engaged, and Harry has to lead Zayn away.

“Right about what?” Zayn asks as they stumble into another clearing.

“Your magic is a different colour now. Have you honestly not noticed?”

Examining his palms, Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He shoots out a couple of sparks into the air, trying to decipher the shade. “It looks a little silver,” he concedes. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s grey,” Harry answers, tone short. “Your magic is grey, which means it’s Louis’ powers that you’re using. It’s why you’ve been inconsistent with it: it’s present when Louis is near and weak when he’s not.”

“I don’t understand. Louis isn’t here.”

“That is what I have to show you.”

Zayn closes his eyes and exhales heavily. “Of course he’s here.”

They reach Yaser’s command center quickly, stumbling into a tent and finding Louis sat in a chair.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Zayn shouts, feeling rage shoot through him. “You were sent away for your own protection, what are you doing here?”

“There is no way I would have left you without protection, you have to know that.” His voice is quiet but his eyes are shining bright.

“You knew about my magic,” Zayn guesses, rolling his eyes.

“Harry told me about the new colour. It didn’t take much to realise that your magic was only present when I was as well. I couldn’t let you fight without magic.”

“Because you don’t trust me?”

Louis finally stands, raising his voice. “Because I _love_ you, you giant prat. Because I’m not willing to save myself and lose you.”

Zayn stops short of saying anything further. He’s breathing hard, both from shouting at Louis and the shock to his system when he had realised Louis was here on the battlefield.

“This is adorable and all,” Harry says from the flap. “But we’ve got a bit of a war going on. Not sure if you’ve noticed.”

“Yes, Harry, your sarcasm is duly noted,” Louis says, stepping forward to press a kiss to Zayn’s lips. “I’m being very careful,” he promises. “The guards don’t let anyone through and I’m close enough to keep your magic in constant supply.”

Zayn wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, holding him close and drinking him in. “I don’t want you here,” he whispers. “I need you to be safe.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs. “I know that.”

It takes all of his self-control, but Zayn finally leaves Louis behind in the tent, after making him promise not to leave. The tide of the battle has changed, with Abelwick quickly gaining back ground. Zayn takes an offered fresh horse, leaving Harry behind with a nod.

He finds Yaser quickly. “You’ve seen him, then?” his father asks.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him. How long has he been here?”

“Since almost the beginning. Wouldn’t let me tell you at first.”

“I really wish you would stop letting Louis dictate what you share with me.”

“Son, if this battle ends the way we hope, I’m following every piece of advice Louis gives me until the very end of my days.”

A commotion at the very edge of the battlefield catches their attention, distracting Zayn from answering. The queen of Bythuria is approaching, a steward holding her royal standard aloft. Yaser rides forward as well, instructing Zayn to stay back.

He watches their conversation from afar, feeling a tingle in his fingertips. He attributes it to the magic Louis is splitting with him, now that he is aware of its presence, and ignores it. Yaser’s face is somber when he returns, and he signals for Yusef to join him and Zayn. He leads them back to the tent.

All around, the fighters are taking another pause, clearly aware there is something brewing between their monarchs. Zayn slips through the flap, going immediately to Louis’ side. Yaser and Yusef are already deep in discussion and Louis is frowning.

“I never saw that coming,” he’s saying, holding his arm out for Zayn to slip underneath.

“Saw what?”

Harry and Luther come inside the tent, Liam following after a moment. His face is flushed when he opens his visor, armor covered in dirt and blood.

“The Queen has offered a deal. There are more fresh troops for their side that have yet to be called in, and she is looking to save her soldiers’ lives. She has proposed that Zayn fights her son, and the winner of the duel wins the battle for their country.”

“That’s a fair deal,” Zayn says, ignoring the part of him that seizes up in fear. “We could save so many lives if I win.”

“Absolutely not,” Yaser says. “That is never going to happen.”

Louis is still frowning but he nods his head. “I think Zayn has a point. He should be allowed to fight.”

Yaser looks surprised, and Zayn doesn’t blame him. He’s a bit surprised, as well, that Louis would agree.

“I can be near enough to him that he’ll have full use of my magic,” he argues before Yaser can speak. “Plus, he’s been training with Liam on the sword. He’s strong.”

“He is, Your Majesty,” Liam says from his spot near the entrance. “Zayn’s one of the best I’ve seen on the broadsword. He’s quick, too.”

“I think you should accept her deal,” Yusef says, voice low.

“It seems as though I don’t have a choice,” Yaser answers. “Your mother and sisters will never forgive me for this,” he warns, “but if you want to fight then we will agree.”

Pulling himself to his full height, Zayn tries to school his features. “I want to fight for Abelwick.”

Louis’ grip on his waist tightens reflexively before he lets it loosen. “I’m going to be as close to you as I can be,” he promises. “I’ll give you every ounce of magic I have.”

“Save some for the girls we’re going to have,” Zayn says, trying to affect a tone of false bravado. “If they’re anything like you then magic will be our helping hand when it comes to patience.”

“And a boy,” Louis answers. “The first is actually a boy.”

Zayn lets out a small gasp at that, biting down on his lip and leaning in to kiss Louis, a hard press of their lips before he pulls back. “We’re going to have a son?” he asks. “What does he look like- what is his name?”

Louis smiles, cheeks a faint pink and eyes bright where they’re crinkled into happy slits. “Elliot, his name is Elliot. He looks a bit like me, I’d say. Go and fight for our family.”

“Fight well,” Harry says, hugging Zayn. It’s near impossible with their armor, but he appreciates the intention all the same. He does the same with Liam, their arms stiff as they press their breastplates together.

“Tell Niall goodbye for me, if it comes to that.”

“Shut up or you’re not fighting at all,” Liam says, eyes appearing a bit damp.

Zayn nods and swallows loudly, continuing to push back down the ball of nerves threatening his sanity. He slips out of the tent’s flap, Louis and then his father following, all sense of ceremony disappeared. Zayn mounts his warhorse, looking down on Louis as his father and the general do the same.

“I love you,” Louis says, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s palm before he tugs his gloves back on.

“I love you, too,” Zayn assures. “I’ll be home soon.”

Louis nods and Zayn clucks to his mount, urging him forward along with Yaser’s and Yusef’s horses. The three of them proceed in a line through the soldiers, approaching the queen once again.

“Do we have a deal, false king?” She asks. Her tone is a bit haughty, in Zayn’s opinion, for one who is losing soldiers by the minute. No amount of fresh men waiting in the wings would be enough to make up for the loss already incurred on Abelwick soil.

Not letting Yaser have time to reply, Zayn pushes forward. “Bring me my opponent,” he says, slipping from the horse’s back. His armor chinks as it settles around his knees and shoulders, all the places where the plates meet, but his is sturdy and new where his previous opponents had all been wearing suits that were inefficient and rusted with age.

“You are a brave man, though you are a fool,” the queen says. She raises her hand above her head, beckoning for someone to join them. “My son, Ezra, is a renowned fighter.”

Immediately, a rider breaks from their ranks and gallops towards them. The lad on horseback swings his leg over the horse’s neck and glides smoothly to the ground, his full plate armor a perfect fit. He’s wearing much darker armor than Zayn, near black where Abelwick soldiers wear a white-silver nickel.

Ezra draws closer and Zayn begins to feel panic again. He’s easily a half-foot taller than Zayn, big and broad like Yaser but without any of the king’s kindness in his black eyes. His hair is loose under his mail, black curls poking out around his shoulders.

They eye each other from head to toe for a moment, clearly sizing up their opponent. Zayn sees none of the tell-tale weaknesses his previous opponents’ armor had shown and he curses himself for thinking the queen- even one as clearly unhinged as she is- would not outfit her son in the best chain that Bythurian money could buy. Black armor like this is most likely made from the same jewels that decorate the walls and portcullis of Abelwick. As such, the magic coursing through him may not be able to easily penetrate the plate. He’ll need to lower Ezra’s defenses first, get him tired and land some blows before trying to send the magic in to the hilt.

Just as he is beginning to allow his nerves to overcome him, he feels a pressure near his spine. Warmth spreads out across his back, licking over his shoulders and settling in the middle of his chest. He recognises the feel of Louis’ magic from all of the times they felt their souls bonding in the beginning, and he relaxes.

With Louis by his side, figuratively or literally, there is no risk of loss. Louis won’t let anything happen to him and Zayn won’t let him down.

He draws his sword, stepping back from his opponent and getting a feel for the weight in his arm again. His father’s horse draws near. Yaser dismounts, holding out his hand. He places his hand over Zayn’s forehead through his visor, repeating his typical blessing.

“Keep in mind, my son: meet strength with weakness and weakness with strength.”

“Go for the gaps,” Zayn agrees. “The neck, the elbow, the armpits,” he lists.

“If you can defend a blow, you can use that momentum to get behind him and get to the spot below his mail coif. Get his helmet with your pommel, make him a bit dizzy and then get him to the ground.”

He nods, agreeing again. He focuses on all of the fancy steps Liam has taught him and all of the creative ways Louis has mentioned killing people, retracing the moves in his mind again as again as Yaser remounts his stallion. He opens his mouth but Zayn cuts him off.

“If you’re just going to tell me that you’re proud, it can wait until I’ve finished. I’d like to hear it then. It will feel like too much of a goodbye to hear it now.”

Yaser nods and turns his steed, trotting back to the line of soldiers. The Ketamyrian and Bythurian soldiers are making their way back to their side as well, giving the two of them a wide berth and trickling along the side of the clearing left for their match.

While Ezra wastes time and energy with fancy swipes through the air that are clearly meant to intimidate, Zayn takes a few deep breaths. He’s already loose from his previous contests before he’d discovered Louis’s presence on the battlefield, and the magic in his body seems to be helping his senses.

Jumping in the air twice, feeling his armor settle loudly as he gets barely the tips of his toes off of the ground, he grins and flips his visor back down.

Here goes nothing.

 

 

It’s a dirty fight.

There doesn’t seem to be another way to describe it. Zayn and Ezra are evenly matched, the other’s size acting as both a strength and weakness in turn. Zayn may be inexperienced- or ‘untested’ as the queen may say- but he’s faster on his feet and can tire Ezra out if he can just keep going.

What is worrying him isn’t his opponent on the field, but the amount of Louis’ magic he’s using just to keep alert. He feels like his feet are going to fail him, like every step he takes might end in him falling to the dirt. With the buzz from the magic, though, he manages to keep his footing and keep Ezra moving as well.

They don’t pause for breaks, just continue to slash and stab at each other. Zayn deflects several blows but can’t take advantage of the momentum to follow his father’s advice. He gets several good hits in the space where the rivets bind the plates together, but for every nick he makes in Ezra’s skin, Ezra gets one in on Zayn.

He’s covered in small pinpricks of pain from the tip of Ezra’s blade, his armor pinching at the marks with every stab forward he makes, but it’s worth it when his blade finally hits true, stabbing at least a half inch into the neck space exposed above the shifted line of the mail coif.

Ezra pulls back and swings his broadsword, knocking Zayn’s out of his hand and off to the left. Quick as a flash, Zayn grips his dagger and pulls it out, using his shield to block Ezra’s blows. He tries to step towards his sword, needs just a moment to get it off the ground, but Ezra is no fool and he quickly gets in the way, forcing Zayn further back.

With his shield held above his head with both hands, Zayn’s shoulders are bearing an overwhelming amount of force with every crushing blow Ezra lands. He tries to release a hand to make use of his dagger, but Ezra’s too strong and Zayn ends up bailing on his shield, pushing with all his strength to knock Ezra back a few paces, just far enough that Zayn can scramble away.

He’s even further from his sword and equipped with only his dagger. His adrenaline level is too high for panic to get a grip, and he relies on his footwork and his own expensive plate armor to deflect the thrusts Ezra is making. He stabs with his dagger when he can, aiming for the wrists or elbows but he cannot get any closer and he’s soon losing his ground again. With the way they’ve shifted, he can see out of the corners of his vision the line of Abelwick’s soldiers and the blurry shapes of Yaser and Louis.

With a last-ditch effort, he tries to spin again towards his sword. Ezra isn’t fooled, and he blocks him again. Zayn’s back is to the invading army and his view of Louis is much clearer now. He ducks two swipes of the sword, ducking his shoulder and getting Ezra in the chest. He barely moves the other man, but he gets his dagger deep in the rivet near Ezra’s armpit of his sword hand, the hilt pressed right against his skin.

With a shout, Ezra knocks him back so hard that Zayn loses his footing, bum landing heavily on the dirt. Ezra staggers back several paces and switches his sword to his less dominant hand. He’s breathing loudly, easy to hear over the bit of distance, and he pauses before he starts to step forward.

Zayn looks to Louis when Ezra’s still far away, unable to believe that Louis’ visions were so incorrect. He isn’t ready to die and can’t risk Abelwick’s safety, but he’s completely out of options. He summons all of his strength, focuses on Louis and wills as much of the other man’s magic into his own body as he can. He lifts his hands, palms out towards Ezra, and lets out a roar as grey magic, so dark it’s nearly black, shoots out of his fingertips.

It stops the advance, the hilt of his dagger acting as a focus for the power and giving it passage into Ezra’s body. The thick stream that is flying out of his palms turns thin quickly, and the hue of his magic changes as well. Startled by the violet sparks he is not casting, he looks to Louis.

His soulmate is in a similar stance, palms out towards Zayn, magic flowing from him. His sparks are purple- the same shade that is flowing into the dagger in Ezra’s side- and Zayn watches in horror as Ezra and Louis both fall simultaneously.

 

 

How Zayn manages not only to get to his feet but also to reach Louis with minimal stumbling is a mystery he will never be able to solve. In one moment, he’s watching Louis’ exact vision come to life before him and in the next he’s knelt on the ground beside him, pressing his hands gently to his cheeks and calling out his name.

He feels a buzz in his veins, a throb in his soul that pulses throughout his body. His fingertips are pulsing against Louis’ temple and he’s startled when a swirl of grey magic surrounds them in a fine mist. The buzz begins to crescendo until he swears he feels the earth rumble with it. He realises, then, Abelwick’s magic must be coming to the surface again and he holds his breath, waiting.

The longest moment of his life exists in the seconds it takes Louis’ eyes to open. No relief has ever been as sweet as the sight of his desperately blue eyes, and Zayn feels tears fall that he hadn’t felt build.

“I’m never going to live down being wrong about this vision, am I?” he asks, voice hoarse as if he had been shouting for hours.

Zayn shakes his head, leaning in and pressing his dry lips against Louis’, sniffling and trying to stop crying. His face is a disgusting mess of tears and snot but he doesn’t care one bit, not as long as Louis stays awake and stays with him.

The sound of his father’s voice causes him to look up.

“I need to meet with the invaders,” he says, frowning apologetically. “See if we can get Louis back to the castle, Niall and Harry will work on rounding up and transporting the wounded.”

“Is it over?” Zayn asks. He knows the magic he and Louis pushed into Ezra was strong, but he hadn’t paid any attention after he’d seen Louis fall. For all he knows, he could have just forfeited the duel by running away.

The smile on Yaser’s face says enough, but his words still send a thrill down Zayn’s spine. “Yes, my son, it is over. You did so very well.”

Zayn nods, looking down at Louis and brushing his fringe from his eyes.

“ _We_ did so well,” he corrects, not looking up as Yaser leaves.

Louis’ hand comes up, cupping Zayn’s cheek gently and running his fingers over the indent left behind by his mail coif.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Zayn says, awkwardly getting to his feet. He’s still weighed down by his armor but he doesn’t let that stop him from bending at the waist and helping Louis to his feet.

“I’ve got your sword and shield,” Liam says, rushing up to them. Zayn thanks him, sheathing his sword and tossing the shield over his back. Liam takes Louis’ other side, the three of them making their way up the long dirt and cobblestone road that leads back to the castle. They stay off to the side, letting carts pass that are carrying the wounded to hospital.

It’s a slow pace but Louis keeps up with them easily enough, speaking about Zayn’s skill with a sword and how it is direct proof of Liam’s superb teaching skills until both Zayn and Liam are blushing fiercely.

“Why don’t we take a bit of a chatting break?” Liam says with a wry smile. “You can tell us again how wonderful we are after you’ve had some sleep.”

“I nearly _died_ , Liam,” Louis pouts. “Let a lad have some fun.”

Liam grumbles but Zayn can feel where the hand nearest him pinches at Louis’ side and he hides his grin against Louis’ temple as he presses a dry kiss there.

“’Sides,” Louis continues. “Zayn’s gonna shave his head. He made a promise. And we keep our promises, don’t we Zee?”

“You sound drunk, mate,” Liam says.

It’s true, Louis is slurring his words and his eyes seem heavy-lidded, but Zayn remembers how he had felt when the purple magic was coming out of his hands. Exhaustion would have been an understatement to use, and only Louis’ magical coma had been a relief to him.

“I’ll feel better when I get into a proper bed,” Louis says, head resting on Liam’s shoulder.

“We’re on our way, almost there,” Zayn assures him.

They’re under the portcullis when Safaa catches them, having chased them from the temporary hospital set up in the previous sheriff’s manor home.

“Harry sent word that Louis was injured,” she explains. “If we get him inside I might be able to help.”

“Not sure if it counts as a regular injury. It’s his magic that’s hurt, if anything.”

“Well, let’s just see what we can do,” Safaa says, a determined set to her face.

They get him into the castle and then one of the rooms off of the front hall. Settling him onto a table on his back, Zayn realises he’s fallen asleep.

“Let him,” Safaa says, stepping up to his side. “It’ll make it easier to mess around with the healing spells I know.” Zayn nods and she turns to look at him. “Why don’t you go get your armor off? It will be awhile.”

“Not leaving,” Zayn refuses.

Liam places a hand on his forearm. “Mate, I’ll stay with him. You need to be comfortable for the wait.”

Zayn pouts but does as they’ve suggested, pressing another kiss to Louis’ dry lips before leaving.

 

 

When he comes back downstairs- having changed as quickly as he could- Louis is still passed out but his colour has mostly returned. Zayn is relieved- nothing had been more concerning than when Louis’ normally golden skin was pallid and wan. His cheeks are a sweet pink, forehead a bit warm when Zayn runs a hand along his cheek again.

“I think he’ll have a bit of a fever but I think I ruled out the risk of any lasting damage,” Safaa reports. “I’m not sure how his magic will behave now- you two are the only ones that I’ve heard of to live past any shade of purple magic- and that was because of his being grey.”

“I don’t care if he hasn’t got a single ounce of magic in him,” Zayn insists, smiling softly. “I am going to love him for the rest of our lives regardless.”

At that exact moment- because fate likes to play with Zayn even in the darkest times- Louis’ mouth turns up at the corners and his eyes blink open.

“You’re such a sap, honestly,” he teases.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I won’t remind you of the things you said the other night then.”

“That’s our cue to leave, come along, Safaa,” Liam says, jumping to his feet and quickly leaving. Safaa follows a bit more reluctantly, looking back at them several times.

“Spoilsports,” Louis says, sitting up carefully. Zayn moves to help him but Louis shrugs him off not unkindly. “’M alright,” he insists. “Just feel really bloody tired. Would it be terrible if I celebrate not dying by sleeping for a week instead?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Zayn smiles.

“I had another vision, by the way,” Louis says as he stands, leaning against Zayn’s side as they walk out of the side room and make their way up the stairs.

“I think you save up these visions for when I’m mad at you, just so you have something to cheer me up.”

“You’re mad?” Louis asks, startled. He stops walking, standing on the step and looking up at Zayn. “What are you mad about?”

Exasperated, Zayn walks up one further step and looks at him. “You gave me every ounce of magic you had. You nearly killed yourself.”

“You were _dying_ , what should I have done instead? I reacted on instinct.”

“You’re still an idiot,” he mutters.

Louis clucks his tongue at him, stepping up next to him and resuming walking to their room. “Well, I’m not going to apologize for loving you,” he says melodramatically. “But if you’re sweet to me, I’ll tell you what I saw.”

“Aye, I’ll be sweet,” he agrees.

Louis doesn’t talk until they’re in their room. He gets his kit off quickly, finding another sleepshirt of Zayn’s and slipping under the covers. He’s not wearing any pants and he’s still got a bit of dirt on the back of his neck and the jut of his jaw from when he’d fallen but he’s still so beautiful.

“Are you going to just stare or do I get to cuddle with my soulmate instead?”

Rolling his eyes again, Zayn can’t help but smile. He’s had an absolutely exhausting day- has experienced every known emotion between ecstatic and distraught in the last twelve hours- but it is reassuring to know that Louis hasn’t really changed. He strips off his own clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and pulling on a pair of silk sleep trousers before climbing onto the mattress next to Louis.

He lets Louis arrange them how he wants, his head settling on Zayn’s shoulder and his left hand tracing patterns on Zayn’s bare chest.

“So a boy, Elliot, and two girls,” he begins, keeping his eyes on the finger running along the cut of Zayn’s abs, starkly defined from the intense workout he’d been in on the battlefield. “The oldest girl is Naima and the youngest is Ava. Elliot and Naima have grey magic but Ava…” he trails off, stilling his finger.

“Yeah?” Zayn prompts.

“Just, don’t freak out,” Louis cautions, pressing the tips of his fingers to Zayn’s chest.

Growing nervous, Zayn shifts a bit so he can get a better look at Louis. “What is it?”

Thousands of terrible scenarios pass through his mind, trying to push away the worst thought- that they may lose her at a young age. He’s in love with these children already, thinks of them as if they were already real, and he starts to breathe heavily.

“I said _don’t_ freak out,” Louis bitches, pressing his palm against Zayn’s skin. “Everything is okay. It’s just a bit startling, is all.”

“Tell me, Louis, or I swear I’ll go crazy.”

“Ava’s got purple magic,” he says in a rush.

‘Startling’ isn’t really enough to explain how that word affects Zayn. His thoughts get jumbled. “You said purple magic is agony. Purple is dying magic.”

“I know,” Louis nods, letting his hand relax. He presses a kiss to Zayn’s chest. “I’ve never heard of anyone having purple magic from birth. But,” he adds, blowing a breath out around a laugh, “I’ve never heard of anyone living past purple, either. Normally it’s the last breath of magic in you. The Elders say the purple is Abelwick calling its magic home- it’s why your heraldic colour is purple; it’s a part of our home.”

“But she’s okay, yeah?” Zayn asks, unable to get past the word ‘agony’. The thought of one of his unborn children- at this point, completely unconceived as well- feeling paid is upsetting.

“She’s so powerful, babe,” Louis assures. “Elliot and Naima are near what I have, possibly a bit more. But Ava is so much stronger than I am. Her purple magic is more of a dark indigo, nearly black like the meta’tem’s. She constantly discovers uses for her magic, though the strongest usage from what I can see is when she uses it to cultivate relationships with animals. she reintroduces dragons into our everyday culture completely, training the ones that don’t have a chance to survive in the wild. They are mainly used for defense, but we get to bring the babies home sometimes.”

Zayn laughs, ducking his head and tilting Louis’ face up all at once to lick into his mouth. “You give me babies, Louis?” he asks with a grin when he pulls back, noting the flush to Louis’ cheeks. “Babies who change the world and have the most powerful magic ever seen?”

Louis scrambles to straddle Zayn’s hips, bare palms braced on Zayn’s shoulders.

“Not without a ring on my finger, I don’t,” he says, smirking and rocking his hips down once. “Can’t just assume I’m going to live in sin with you for the rest of my life.”

“I’ll marry you,” Zayn promises with a smirk, cupping Louis’ hips under the oversized shirt he’s wearing. He digs in just enough to make him squirm, ticklish. “I’ll marry you right now.”

“Not right now, it has to be planned properly,” Louis insists.

“Fine, but we’re going to start planning tomorrow. I’m making you a Malik as soon as I can.”

Louis grins and slips off to the side, lying on his belly and tucking back into Zayn’s side. They’re almost half asleep when Zayn realises something.

“What if Ava’s dragons aren’t really for defense?” he wonders aloud, completely serious. “What if they’re actually attacking Abelwick or leaving it in droves because we run the country into the ground? We’ve got proof that your visions are pretty spotty at best.”

Louis turns his head and bites at the soft skin on the inside of Zayn’s elbow, snarling and making him laugh as they finally fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! [Come say hi if you'd like ♥](http://iamleighbot.tumblr.com/)


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